


All In

by hvanwoong



Category: ONEUS (Band)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24561238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hvanwoong/pseuds/hvanwoong
Summary: Lee Keonhee, recording artist and heir to his family’s gemstone fortune, finds himself in hot water when the executor of his father’s will informs him that to inherit the business, he must be married.Striking a deal with renowned actor and international sex symbol Kim Youngjo, who also happens to be his long-term nemesis, is an unexpected but lucrative solution.
Relationships: Kim Youngjo | Ravn/Lee Keonhee
Comments: 43
Kudos: 198





	All In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peachyun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyun/gifts).



> Hello all <3 especially peachyun~ thank you for always being here for me, I don’t know where I’d be without you~ I hope you have the most amazing birthday. You know I love you so much, this one is for you ^-^
> 
> The concept for the fic is inspired by the drama ‘Best Lover’. I didn’t watch the whole drama but from the pieces I watched it was super fun and the idea always kind of stuck in my head afterwards. 
> 
> While you are here, please remember to take some time to check out the latest Black Lives Matter resources; here are a couple of easy to navigate and regularly updated carrds: [1](https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/), [2](https://blmsites.carrd.co/).
> 
> Love and take care, M x

‘ _Cut_!’

Youngjo sidesteps away from his co-star in a second, without a word, before he’s engulfed by another crowd. The sun is high in the sky, searing with midday and midsummer heat, and before he knows it staff are holding rattling electric fans close against his skin and someone is dabbing sweat from his hair. The heat is in his bones though, in his blood, and his throat is sore from dehydration because even though they’re advertising vitamin drinks, he’s only allowed one sip per take. With so many people around him, claustrophobia sets in, and he searches for a gap.

‘Coming through, coming through,’ says a familiar voice, and he turns with relief to find Hwanwoong shoving his way through the crowd. He’s armed with a sun umbrella, which might explain why people dive out of his way, but then Hwanwoong always has that air about him, weapon or not; like he’ll stamp on your toes if you don’t move sharpish. ‘We’re going on break,’ he says briskly, and Youngjo takes the umbrella so that he can hold it over both of them.

‘That blockhead kept stepping in my light,’ Youngjo glares over in the direction of his co-star, who has been surrounded by his own staff.

Hwanwoong raises his eyebrows as he leads Youngjo in the direction of his trailer, handing him a bottle of iced water. They’re pitched up in the middle of the countryside, surrounded by sprawling open fields with little protection from the sun. Far away, there is a barn atop a hill, but otherwise there is no sign of life in the vicinity. The bustling set is out of place, more people than should be permitted in a tranquil place like this. Even the fresh air has a taste of chaos around it.

‘Oh, Keonhee?’ smirks Hwanwoong. ‘I hadn’t noticed.’

‘How many more of these ads do I have to record again?’ says Youngjo. He drains the water bottle in one go, hand crushing the plastic in his haste to push out the last few droplets.

Hwanwoong is his personal assistant. _Assistant_ is one word for him, anyway. Sometimes he can be more of a hindrance than anything else. But they’ve been friends since school and Youngjo wouldn’t have anyone else travelling the world with him. ‘Three,’ supplies Hwanwoong. ‘Just think of the money, hyung.’

Youngjo would never have signed up to this advertising contract if they’d known who else would be on the bill. _Lee Keonhee._ One artist that he’s known for almost as long as he’s known Hwanwoong. He still remembers the first time they met, at freshman orientation, both studying Performing Arts. Youngjo was three years older, after a year working on his family’s farm, and two more working in the city to save up for college. Keonhee arrived in a chauffeur-driven car, gleaming sapphire wrist-watch on show and a collection of hangers-on following him straight from boarding school.

Youngjo still remembers how Keonhee tried to steal the limelight in every single student show that they auditioned for.

‘He’s so rude to the staff,’ Youngjo complains, ‘I don’t know if I can film three more advertisements with him.’

As they step inside the trailer, he collapses down onto the long, narrow couch and throws his head back while Hwanwoong sets up the air-conditioning. ‘Water! Water!’ he imitates in a crude impression of Keonhee’s voice, snapping his fingers for the full effect. ‘Can you _believe_ him?’

‘You should cut him some slack,’ says Hwanwoong.

That makes Youngjo sit bolt upright, a look of utmost betrayal on his face. Part of Hwanwoong’s job description, both as his assistant _and_ his friend, is to listen to his rants about his co-star and sympathise with him regardless. ‘When has he _ever_ deserved slack? Hwanwoong - ’

‘Don’t bite my head off. It’s just that _I_ heard his father recently died,’ he shrugs. ‘If it’s true then it can’t be easy. You know his mother already - ’

‘I know,’ interrupts Youngjo, and he stares up at the ceiling. His thoughts roll over Hwanwoong’s words. The Lee patriarch, dead? He’s been so caught up in his own business that he hasn’t read the rumour-mill for a couple of days. He never met him personally, but he did see him once at college, at one of their shared stage shows, one of the ones in which Youngjo had secured the lead role. He’d seen Keonhee’s father back stage, criticising his son’s performance with wild gesticulations. Youngjo had thought then that he seemed like a domineering kind of man. One of those ones who could not possibly be mortal.

‘Well he’s always been rude,’ he mutters. ‘So today’s no different.’

He picks up his short script from the side and scans through his lines again. Even though there are only three pages, he memorised them days ago, just like he would with his movie lines. Youngjo has never been one of those people who can show up on the morning of shooting and look at the script for the first time. Even for simple advertisements, he takes his roles seriously.

‘What’s this?’ he asks, when he notices the magazine under the script and turns it to face him.

Hwanwoong darts across the trailer and snatches it up. ‘Nothing! Nothing!’

‘Give it to me!’ Youngjo makes a grab for it, but Hwanwoong is fast and small – he escapes in a second. Only when he reaches the dead end of the trailer can Youngjo wrap his arms around him and haul him back into space and wrestle the magazine away. He prises Hwanwoong’s fingers from the cover one by one and then holds it up with an expression of disdain.

His own face is on the cover, edited poorly alongside an image of his ex-boyfriend.

‘Oh you have to be _kidding_ me.’

_World Exclusive:_

_Kim Youngjo and Sun Daeho back together? Hotel pics and more…_

‘I was going to burn it,’ says Hwanwoong guiltily. ‘I just wanted to see how they got the pictures. It’s part of my job, making sure that this kind of thing doesn’t happen again.’

Youngjo kneads his forehead with his knuckles, then opens the magazine to the main article, narrowing his eyes at the grainy photographs. They show a back, definitely his because he recognises his denim jacket, entering a luxury hotel, late at night. On the right-hand side of the spread are similar pictures, but this time of Daeho.

Daeho.

He recognises that back too, bleach blond hair just poking out from beneath his beanie. Daeho was his co-star on his first major movie. They dated for three years, before Daeho cheated. Youngjo snaps the magazine shut and tosses it away into the waste-paper basket.

‘They weren’t even taken on the same day,’ Hwanwoong says, voice soft, like this is a subject that might provoke Youngjo.

‘Everyone in the industry stays in that hotel,’ mutters Youngjo, ‘how can they make an article out of this, let alone a cover?’

Hwanwoong shrugs. ‘They don’t care about the truth, Youngjo, they just sell what people want to read.’

‘Well why do people want to read that?’ he snaps, then his face relaxes and he says quickly, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. Just between Lee Keonhee and Daeho it’s like the universe is really trying to get under my skin today.’

‘Let’s go out tonight!’ suggests Hwanwoong. It’s his solution for everything, his silver bullet for all ills. He’s a partier with a surprisingly high tolerance and a penchant for hustling in drinking contests. And it’s true that it does cheer Youngjo up to watch, even if going out isn’t necessarily his thing. Most of the time, he says yes, as much for his friend’s benefit as his own.

He forces a smile. ‘Yeah, okay.’

‘We’ll show the tabloids how over-Daeho you are.’

~

Keonhee crosses the lobby of the company building without looking around, not eager to be caught in conversation. The entrance hall is wide, shiny and slippery with marble, and the ceiling extends two storeys high with crystal chandeliers as big as a car hanging every few metres. Above the murmuring discussions of the small clusters of people, the water feature at the centre of the lobby tinkles on. It’s nearly five o’clock, but nobody has that excited air of coming to the end of the day; no one at Lee & Lee finishes work at five o’clock. If they wanted to finish at five o’clock, they’d take a job at any of the other thousands of companies in Seoul.

Not here.

These offices never sleep.

Keonhee walks rigid as a board, always uncomfortable between these walls. He adjusts his tie pin in the elevator. One glance in the mirror that covers one wall tells him that he looks tired. It’s not tiredness from the early start, or the day of filming, or the long drive back to the city, but a tiredness that sits somewhere in his gut and comes through greyish in his skin. Between organising his father’s funeral, trying to finish work on his new album, and having to visit this place every day, he’s forgotten what it feels like to rest.

A shiver runs from the top of his spine down to his lower back. He remembers the first time he stood in this elevator as a child, when his father brought him here and told him that one day it would all be his.

Keonhee’s never thought that he wanted it, but now –

When the elevator dings for the top floor, he takes a few quick breaths and straightens up. He pushes his shoulders back and smooths the sides of his hair down. In this room, he’ll be the youngest, but he has to carry himself like the oldest. One way or another, he needs to make the case that he’s the rightful inheritor to the company.

‘Mr Lee.’ Both of the secretaries stand and bow when he leaves the elevator, and he glances their way to incline his head before opening the door to his father’s conference room without knocking. There are five men sat around the long table, all but one of whom stand when he enters. The other is his uncle, and Keonhee looks his way with a special resentment that he reserves only for him.

‘You’re late,’ says his uncle.

‘I was filming a commercial,’ he answers in an offhand way, speaking to the rest of the table rather than to him. He takes the seat at the head of the table, the seat that, in spite of everything, even his uncle didn’t dare sit in. Yet.

The other attendees are all lawyers. Keonhee’s personal lawyer, his father’s lawyer and executor of his will, and two lawyers from the company. At the centre of the table is a large, rough sapphire encased in glass and propped on a delicate golden stand. No one is looking at it.

‘Okay,’ he says. He’s not interested in pleasantries. ‘What’s the update?’

There’s an exchange of glances around the table, and he looks to his uncle for the answer before it’s spoken. He’s significantly older than Keonhee, older than his father was too; perhaps that’s why he’s been so bitter for decades – Keonhee’s grandfather had passed the majority share of the company on to Keonhee’s father, rather than the oldest son. His hair is greying now, but there’s a hint of childishness on his face, especially in the smirk around his lips.

That’s Keonhee’s answer.

‘The will is watertight,’ says Keonhee’s lawyer. ‘Your father was quite clear about his intentions. There can be no challenge.’

The tiredness in Keonhee’s stomach writhes into twists of anger, and he clenches his hands in his lap. His knuckles turn white, threatening to break the skin.

His father’s lawyer speaks this time, in a low drone. ‘The title of Chief Executive Officer will be conferred to Lee Keonhee. The board, meanwhile, will be placed in the control of Lee Manyoung, until such time as the heir Keonhee is married.’

Unable to stop himself, Keonhee slams his hand down flat on the table. ‘ _No_.’ His lawyer looks his way and reaches out a hand to calm him, but rage is hot and red in Keonhee’s blood. ‘You can’t - ’

‘Mr Lee - ’ his lawyer starts in a warning tone.

‘I don’t _want_ the title. I don’t want to be CEO. I want my majority share. It’s my _right_.’

‘Not for now, it’s not,’ says Manyoung, and his voice is quite calm but his eyes scream triumph. ‘My dear brother, your father, believed that you are not yet mature enough to take control of the board, and with your… _rages_ here today, Keonhee, I’m inclined to agree with him. Perhaps in a few years, once you have put an end to this ridiculous music hobby and settled down into - ’

Keonhee stands, kicking his chair back. His father’s chair. He points at the rock of a sapphire in the centre of the table. ‘That is mine. Every sapphire in this place is mine. I own it all. And you’re telling me I can’t even make any decisions about the future of my father’s company?’

‘Actually, all sapphires in the building are under the ownership of the company shareholders, including those stored in the vault, and - ’

Keonhee sprawls across the huge table to pick up the glass case, knocking over the gold stand as he goes, and then looks around at each aghast face in the room. ‘Anyone going to try and stop me taking it home, then?’ he snaps. When he’s met with silence, he smiles and shakes his head. ‘Didn’t think so. Screw this,’ he mutters, and he pushes the case into his jacket pocket. ‘I’ll fight this, I’ll fight this until I’ve exhausted every lawyer in South Korea and then I’ll start looking overseas.’

He storms from the room, followed by his lawyer, who has to take two steps for every one of his. Only halfway back to the elevator does he catch his arm and keep up beside him. ‘Or, Mr Lee,’ he says in a whisper, a little out of breath, ‘you could just get married.’

Keonhee only turns halfway, then looks back up as if he never heard the words at all.

 _Marriage_.

The one thing that his father knew he’d struggle to find the most.

He shrugs his shoulders to straighten his jacket and presses the elevator button with one calm finger. He levels his face, until it’s completely expressionless.

One final insult shouldn’t hurt any more than the thousand before.

~

‘Mr Kim! Mr Kim! Where is Daeho tonight?’

‘Are you going to sneak him in through the back?’

‘Any comments on the photographs from the Millennium Hotel?’

‘Are you and Daeho back together?’

Youngjo pushes through the crowd of reporters outside the front of the bar. They horde here every day because it’s a popular hotspot for celebrities, guest-list and invite only. The security on the door let Youngjo and Hwanwoong inside without a second glance, before blocking the entrance again when someone makes to follow them. Although Youngjo is the celebrity, there is an air that this is more Hwanwoong’s territory. The latter waves at people who Youngjo doesn’t recognise, and several call out greetings to him.

This part of the bar is not too loud, unlike the club in the basement. The proprietor strictly limits the number of people permitted inside, and the music is low and jazzy, even though Youngjo can feel the vibration underfoot from the club music downstairs. A sleek black bar, modern and glittering, occupies a circle in the middle of the room.

‘The usual?’ asks the barman when they take two seats at the bar, and he speaks to Hwanwoong rather than Youngjo.

‘For two,’ says Hwanwoong. ‘Extra olives in mine.’

He pulls out his wallet, and Youngjo rolls his eyes and catches his hand. ‘Don’t be stupid.’

‘Youngjo - ’

‘Consider it business, you’re cheering me up,’ he orders, before taking out his own metal card case from his back pocket and passing his card over the bar. ‘Start me a tab.’

Their drinks are dirty martinis. For once, Youngjo devours his first drink as quickly as his assistant, who orders two more. He shudders his shoulders a little and taps the stem of his glass, thoughts on the reporters outside. ‘I’m sick of this. It’s been two years. Can’t they give it a rest?’ He doesn’t offer any context, but he doesn’t need to.

Hwanwoong knows what he’s talking about, and sighs. ‘Until one of you dates someone else, it won’t stop.’

‘Maybe he should have married the guy he was shacking up with,’ says Youngjo, ‘then I wouldn’t have to put up with this.’

‘Come on, we’re supposed to be taking your mind off him!’ whines Hwanwoong. ‘Why don’t we find you a guy here… low level celebrity… the magazines will eat it up if you’re seen leaving with someone and then…’ he trails off, spinning around on his stool to look amongst the other patrons at the bar, eyes narrowed. The lighting is low and tinted blue, and when Youngjo follows his gaze he finds everyone’s faces cast into a strange, sharp relief.

He looks back to his second drink, and then drains his glass.

The vermouth bites at the back of his throat, and he feels a vibration in his blood.

‘Can I buy you a drink?’

He glances back up, but the stranger is talking to Hwanwoong. He smiles to himself. His friend gets asked out a lot. Even without Youngjo there, it’s rare that he ever pays for his own drinks. ‘No can do, I’m afraid,’ says Hwanwoong, though he does grace the stranger with a flirtatious smile. ‘I’m taken for the night.’

Youngjo shakes his head and smiles when the disappointed man walks away. ‘You know you can go and have fun, right? You don’t have to waste the night sat here with me complaining.’

‘I like listening to you complain,’ he shrugs.

For the third drink, Hwanwoong orders something that Youngjo has never heard of. When it’s passed over to him, he sees that it’s a lurid green colour, and he grimaces before taking a sip. It’s _very_ strong. ‘You know I’ve been invited to the _Blue_ premiere? _His_ movie. Can you believe that?’ The reason is that he’s worked with the producer before, but the thought of appearing on the same red carpet as Daeho makes him feel sick to his stomach. However, he also knows that if he doesn’t show up, it will seem like he’s scared of him, and that’s worse.

‘That’s why we need to find you someone to go with. We just need to prove that you’re doing better than him.’

‘I _am_ doing better than him.’

It’s true.

On paper, Youngjo is doing as well as it is possible to do. The rumour-mill is spinning that his latest film will be nominated for awards not just here in South Korea, but across the world as well. He’s been reported as the top-earning actor in the country across the last year. His _Instagram,_ which he never uses, still breaks all kinds of records. He wonders, though, how much success can be measured _on-paper_. After all, he’s the one in the bar drinking his frustration away.

He rests his elbows on the bar and sighs. One look around informs him that a lot of people are looking his way, but no one approaches him. There’s one big problem with being Kim Youngjo:

No one, not even the most confident of people, dares to approach an international movie star to ask him out. Which means that the onus always falls onto him. And for everything that he does on camera, off-set Youngjo is shy.

‘D-do you want to go to dance?’ someone says in a rush, and he looks up.

They’re talking to Hwanwoong again. This time, his friend cocks his head to the side in interest and glances Youngjo’s way. The stranger is handsome, maybe a little younger than them, and wringing his hands together nervously. But he stands up straight nonetheless, like he’s playing the part of someone he’s seen on TV who is very confident. ‘Go,’ says Youngjo with a roll of his eyes. ‘Please.’

As if let off the hook at last, Hwanwoong finishes his drink and jumps up. ‘I’ll be downstairs if you need me,’ he promises, and Youngjo waves him away.

He watches the two of them head to the stairs down to the club, and sips his own drink. When he sees the bottom of the glass, he waves over the barman. ‘Can I get something a little less green, please?’ he asks, and the barman gives him a smile and a nod before mixing him something different.

Even though the bar is growing tight for space, no one takes the seat next to him.

He takes out his phone and flits through his messages, but there’s nothing that catches his attention, not when he’s three drinks in and his mind is stewing on the tabloids. He puts it back down on the bar and contemplates throwing caution to the wind and asking someone to go and dance with him, but just as he decides to swivel off his chair, someone takes a seat at the stool next to him.

He’s tall, stiff and upright, wearing a tailored black jacket, and when Youngjo glances down at the bar, he sees that there is a glimmering sapphire watch on his wrist.

 _No_.

He looks up, spots Lee Keonhee’s pointed profile, and snaps his eyes back down to the bar.

 _The universe really does have it out for me today_ , he thinks.

Nearly 20,000 bars in Seoul, and Keonhee had to choose this one.

Now he’s stuck here, because he has to hold his ground.

‘Your most expensive whiskey,’ Keonhee orders, voice toneless and dull and nothing like the characterful way it sounds on the radio before Youngjo turns over to the news every time. ‘And leave the bottle.’

There’s only so long that Youngjo can pretend he hasn’t recognised him for. He sighs. ‘Look at us, promoting vitamin drinks in the morning and drinking like this in the evening.’

Keonhee’s face snaps around and turns sour. ‘Oh. It’s you. Just my luck.’

‘I was thinking the exact same thing.’

There’s a silence between the two of them, and Youngjo starts his next drink. There’s no way that he’s going to be the first to admit defeat and leave, and clearly Keonhee is of the same opinion, so they sit side by side in discomfort. When neither of them can stand the silence anymore, Keonhee mutters: ‘I thought this day couldn’t get any worse.’

‘ _You_ thought that?’ Youngjo scoffs.

‘Oh woe is me,’ he rolls his eyes, ‘what _terrible_ thing has happened in national-icon-movie-star Kim Youngjo’s life today?’

‘Between filming with you in the morning and then having to read the press making out I’m back together with my cheating, lying ex? And knowing that I’m gonna have to show up to his next movie premiere single as ever for everyone to see? Everything’s going great,’ he says, tongue loosened by the alcohol. Keonhee makes a noise close to a _pfft_ and Youngjo turns to glare at him. ‘What? Has heir-to-billions-recording-artist Lee Keonhee had it even worse?’ he says, finding it pretty rich for Keonhee to act like _he’s_ the one too privileged to have any problems.

Keonhee shrugs and pours out a triple measure from his whiskey bottle. ‘Well, my father just died and has handed the family business over to my insidious uncle solely to spite me.’

For the second time today, Youngjo flashes back to the scene of Keonhee’s father backstage at their college production, and he looks down at his drink. He remembers how Lee Senior turned red in the face while he tried to keep his furious tones muted. There seems no way to approach the subject with appropriate sensitivity, not when he doesn’t even know if Keonhee liked his father. So he goes with the polite, professional response. ‘I’m sorry to hear about your father.’

Keonhee laughs and knocks back his drink. ‘Vipers, the lot of them. My family,’ he adds, by way of explanation. ‘Poisonous, blood-sucking - ’

‘Venomous,’ corrects Youngjo. ‘Snakes are venomous, not poisonous.’

‘God I hate you,’ mutters Keonhee.

As they sit there, Youngjo tries to think of the exact moment at which he started hating Lee Keonhee. Was it when he arrived in the chauffeur driven car? No. Was it when he stole the first role that he auditioned against Youngjo for? No. Was it when he talked with his friends at the back of the room during one of Youngjo’s showcase performances for his grade? Maybe then. Teenage Keonhee was even more insufferable than the one sat beside him now.

He wasn’t just born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but one encrusted with cerulean blue sapphires.

‘Why?’ asks Youngjo, and he isn’t sure why the word slips from his lips. It’s a frustration borne from deep in his mind combined with a combativeness that the alcohol has helped with. In every recollection of their history, he can only see Keonhee as the villain. Nothing stands out that he did in return to make his enemy hate _him_ so much.

‘You know why,’ says Keonhee, and there’s a slur in his words, like he’d already been drinking before he got here.

Youngjo draws circles with the moisture from his glass on the bar, then gestures for another drink and turns to look properly at Keonhee. His nemesis is, admittedly, handsome in an annoying sort of way. Wide eyes and sculpted lips with a perfect Cupid’s bow, his features all pronounced and no doubt inherited from a striking parent, unlike Youngjo’s more subtle details. ‘Why are you so mad?’ Youngjo changes tack. ‘Is it about the money? Don’t you have enough of it already?’

‘My father left me a third of his personal fortune. I have enough money. It’s not about that.’

‘So the company? I thought you never wanted it anyway? You’re doing good with music, let the… _vipers_ keep it.’

‘It’s not that I want the company,’ says Keonhee, through gritted teeth. ‘It’s that I don’t want _him_ to have it. My uncle. He’s a dangerous man, exploitative – he’ll undo all the good work we’ve done. My grandfather never wanted him to have the company, but my father was blinded by him. That, and his own dislike for me. He never forgave me for going to do music. This is a punishment. He’s made me the figurehead, put _all_ the public weight on me, and yet given me no power to do anything at _all_!’

Youngjo listens to the rant, then his lips twitch up at the corners. ‘So what is Lee Keonhee going to do? Because the competitive asshole I’ve known all these years wouldn’t let himself be beaten like this.’

‘I have to get married,’ says Keonhee flatly. ‘That’s the stipulation. I have to prove that I’m… mature enough to inherit.’

That, Youngjo was not expecting. He raises his eyebrows and exhales. ‘Well, he got you with that one. Who on earth would want to marry you?’

‘Plenty of people,’ says Keonhee with an irritable tone, ‘I just inherited the equivalent of a billion US dollars. The problem is finding someone who _I’ll_ be able to tolerate.’

‘You should marry my ex,’ says Youngjo, ‘then the press could stop harassing me. Besides, the two of you deserve each other.’

Keonhee doesn’t answer, but he does pull out an odd clear case from his pocket and puts it down on the bar.

‘Wait, is that - ’

‘Yes,’ says Keonhee, turning the encased sapphire over in his hand. ‘This sapphire used to sit in my grandfather’s office. He would turn in his grave knowing that it was in my uncle’s hands. So I took it with me. I _have_ to get the company back…’

If Youngjo wasn’t already too many drinks in, this thought would not have come to him, and even if it had he would hope that he could have kept it inside and never voiced it aloud. ‘Maybe you should just marry me,’ he says with a shallow laugh, ‘that would solve both of our problems.’ _Shut up_! he orders himself, but his lips don’t seem to want to obey his brain. _Shut up._

Luckily, Keonhee laughs too, even though Youngjo wishes that he hadn’t said it. ‘Wouldn’t that be interesting.’

‘On that happy note, I should find Hwanwoong,’ Youngjo says quickly, unable to look at him after voicing such a horror, and he stands up. All of the alcohol that had rested innocently while he was sitting down rushes to his head now, and he almost falls, the room spinning. A hand catches his arm and holds him upright. It lets go very fast once he’s steady, and he looks back at Keonhee. ‘Thanks.’

‘Don’t ever thank me again,’ he says. ‘You’ll make it seem like we’re friends.’

Youngjo thinks that it’s interesting, how when it comes to drinking together, the line between enemies and friends seems to fade.

~

It’s not until a week later, on the set of their next commercial, that Youngjo sees Keonhee again. They’re filming in the city this time, very early in the morning before the workday traffic starts. A yawn breaks across Youngjo’s face, but he cannot complain; at least at this hour it is not overwhelmingly hot. Keonhee stands some way away with his team until the moment of filming. Neither of them mentions their previous encounter, and Youngjo prays that Keonhee drank enough that night that he forgot all of it.

There’s a pause for Youngjo, in which he only has to step back and watch as the director works on a scene of Keonhee opening his bottle. They have no need for a hand model; Lee Keonhee’s hands are delicate, easy to imagine on the strings of his guitar or the keys of his piano when he creates his music. Youngjo looks down, concentrating on his script for the next scene instead.

‘Break for ten!’ is the call, and he sits down on a portable cooler, wishing that Hwanwoong was here to distract him. The street would be bustling by later in the day, but at this time none of the storefronts have lifted their shutters, and the tables and chairs outside the cafés are still stacked atop each other. Youngjo didn’t deign it necessary to wake up his friend at 4 in the morning to come here to film at dawn.

‘We need to talk.’

He looks up, lips parting in surprise when he sees Keonhee standing over him, haughty as ever. ‘Excuse me?’ he says.

‘I said we need to talk. Somewhere private.’

‘I’m not going anywhere private with _you_.’

Keonhee rolls his eyes. ‘Then I’ll tell the whole crew that we’re getting married.’

Youngjo is part-way into a splutter when Keonhee pulls him up by the shoulder of his shirt and drags him with no moderation in the direction of a side street, away from where the cameras are set up. Youngjo wants to kick up a fuss, but politeness stops him, as if his kidnap at the hands of Lee Keonhee does not warrant disturbing the staff.

‘Even for you, this is _weird_ ,’ he says with gritted teeth, though, when Keonhee releases him and glances over his shoulder with a furtive look.

Youngjo thinks that in an alley like this, with a look like that, Keonhee must either be about to kiss him or kill him. He’s not sure which would be worse.

‘I’ll do it,’ says Keonhee, voice shaky.

‘Do what?’

‘Marry you,’ he says, like this was obvious. ‘What you suggested. To solve both of our problems.’

Youngjo chokes on laughter, eyes wide with astonishment. ‘You – what? Don’t be stupid, Keonhee.’

‘You suggested it!’

‘I was joking! Why the hell would you want to marry _me_ of all people?’

‘I’ve been up at night thinking about it, and it’s perfect. Everyone will believe it’s legitimate because they’d never expect a celebrity like you to be involved in something nefarious. And there’s no risk of me catching any real feelings, which I do _not_ want.’

‘Says who?’ laughs Youngjo, disbelief still in his voice. ‘I think I’d be very easy to catch feelings for!’

‘I can’t stand you, so it’s perfect. We can keep it as a purely business transaction, no risk of anything else. And no one else would be crazy enough to try this, but I think you would be.’

Youngjo flops back against the wall. His stomach is lifting with laughter, and the seriousness on Keonhee’s face makes it worse, not better. ‘Small problem, Keonhee. Used to getting things you want as I know you are, you’d still need me to agree to it, and I can’t think of anything that I’d rather do _less_. You’re crazy.’

When he makes to walk away, Keonhee grabs his wrist, fingers surprisingly strong on his arm. ‘Think about it, Youngjo. Your ex is out there spreading nonsense in the media about the two of you getting back together. If you were with me, it would silence him and everyone else once and for all. I’m leading the music industry, you’re leading the film industry… if you’ve ever wanted to one-up your ex, that’s the kind of relationship that would be impossible to beat.’

‘What? What’s Daeho saying?’ he ignores everything else, centring in on that one detail.

‘ _Call_!’ they both hear the shout, turning.

‘What’s Daeho said about me?’ he says, tone more pressing, but Keonhee has already released him and is walking back to the set with hurried steps.

The next hour is torture. Youngjo is too professional to whip out his phone, and too embarrassed to interrogate Keonhee in front of other people. He paces his way through the filming, heart pounding uncontrollably against his chest. He itches for news, in the most physical way because it feels like something is clawing at his insides. It seems a lifetime until the next break, and he snatches up his phone like a bottle of water to a man dying of thirst.

He opens his social media, in a panic, watching the spinning loading screen. It is said that the reload motion on the most common apps imitates the act of playing slot machines, that it’s as addictive as gambling. Youngjo only usually logs on to check in with his fans, but this time he flits to the news page, shaking when he sees the headline.

_Sun Daeho hints at reconciliation with Kim Youngjo._

‘Don’t you dare,’ he mutters under his breath, scrolling for the news. ‘You manipulative, fame-hungry - ’

It’s true. The words aren’t twisted. Daeho was coy, in the way that one is when they’re eager for someone else to spread their secret. _‘I think you always have that connection with your first love. I ought not comment on the photographs, but I’d say to people… just never say never -_ ’ Youngjo closes the article, bile bubbling up in his stomach. How nicely this will promote Daeho’s new film. He grips the phone so hard that he thinks it’ll crack, and closes his eyes to take several deep breaths.

He shoves his phone back into his pocket, thinking that for once in his life he hates someone more than he hates Lee Keonhee, and that’s dangerous.

He marches back across set, stops barely two inches from Keonhee’s face, and says: ‘I’m in.’

Keonhee exhales shakily. They both look around, but no one is watching them, all busy setting up for the next scene. Keonhee gives him a curt nod, then says under his breath, ‘later. We’ll meet at my studio.’

~

Keonhee’s studio is in a loft downtown, an expensive property that he bought just out of college when he’d told his father than he was determined to pursue music as a career. There’s little personal about it, because Keonhee is not a collector of things, but there is enough gear to man a small festival. Two sleek black couches fill the human part of the loft, a dart-board on the wall, and then freshly-placed glass walls lead through to the recording studio, dream destination of artists across the country desperate for a collaboration.

He is seated on one of the couches, writing furiously, when Youngjo arrives, peering around with curious eyes. ‘Nice place,’ he says, and it might be the biggest compliment that Kim Youngjo has ever paid him.

‘Thank you,’ he says curtly. ‘Did anyone see you coming?’

Youngjo shrugs and slips off his light linen jacket. ‘If they did, then that’s good, right? Planting the seed. Illicit trysts at your studio…’

Keonhee purses his lips at the attempt at humour, and gestures for Youngjo to sit down on the opposite couch. He looks different to how he looked in the club cast in half-light, or how he looks on set when the make-up team have contoured his face. Youngjo is pretty, a boy-next-door, a country boy brought to the city who suited the bright lights from the moment they first cast him in their glow. He also looks tired though; not as tired as Keonhee, but tired nonetheless.

Keonhee has learned himself how much fame can wear a person down. It’s different to wealth or success, its own strange terrible kind of world.

‘You really want to do this?’ he says, voice low as if they’ll be overheard. ‘Because if you’re in, then you need to be all in.’

Youngjo sits back and lays his jacket in a neat fold over his lap. ‘I have questions.’

‘I think we both do.’

‘How long would we have to stay married?’

‘There’s no stipulation in my father’s will,’ shrugs Keonhee, ‘we could annul the following day. But I don’t think that would do well for either of our reputations.’

‘A year, then?’ suggests Youngjo.

Keonhee nods. It’s the figure that he’d been thinking about too. ‘And how long must we date before then?’

‘Well, I think six months is long enough to warrant a shock proposal,’ says Youngjo. They talk about it like a business meeting, like this is talking over simple contract matters. ‘If we can create an image that we’ve been together privately for some time, then that lessens the required time. Would we have to live together?’

‘Not before marriage,’ says Keonhee, disdain on his tongue. ‘That would be improper.’

‘And after?’

‘The home that I’ve inherited from my father is quite expansive. We would not have to see much of each other.’

Youngjo breathes out, and Keonhee can hear the shake in his voice. _It’s too crazy. It’s a ridiculous idea. Of all people, why do this with your enemy…?_ He’s as nervous as Youngjo. But he knows that this could _only_ be with Youngjo. With a friend it would be too complicated, the risks too high. It could cost them their friendship. With Youngjo it will be easier, no different to the contract they share making their commercials. Business.

‘I never thought I’d hate someone enough to do something like this,’ Youngjo shakes his head. He’s looking down at his hands, fingers knotted together in strange patterns. ‘It’s ridiculous.’

‘Think of it as an acting exercise,’ says Keonhee. ‘The most significant role that you’ve ever stepped into.’

He recalls the first time that he saw Youngjo on stage, during an improvisation class at college. Youngjo then was shy, anxious, but with a hint of _fortitude_ around him, like it would be difficult to knock him over. He’d crafted an intricate scene, the best in the class, and everyone had praised his performance. Keonhee’s wonders whether that’s the moment that he started hating him, or whether that came much later. It was always like that at college. Youngjo was the golden boy, with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Everyone liked him. He hadn’t arrived with the weight of expectation bowing his back like Keonhee had.

Youngjo sighs. ‘We’re both crazy.’

‘We’ll give it a trial run. See if we can… tolerate each other.’

‘I know just the occasion,’ says Youngjo in a bitter tone.

‘ _Blue_ premiere? I’m presuming you have a plus-one.’

Youngjo nods, and Keonhee can almost see the anger rolling off from his skin in hot waves. It’s the same rage that he feels at the slightest mention of his uncle. He thinks that only such hatred of two others could bring enemies together like this. And the truth is, that somewhere inside, he knows that there is no one else that he would do this with other than Kim Youngjo.

They’ve always shared a destiny.

~

‘If you want me to get to you out of there, then give me the signal,’ says Hwanwoong.

Youngjo smiles and rests his hands down flat on the hotel dresser. They’re quite steady, none of his nerves betrayed on the surface, the nails cut in neat squares and painted black; Youngjo has always liked to add flair to his carpet looks. Hwanwoong stands behind him, arranging a few strands of hair around his forehead for him.

‘For the record, I still think that this is the worst idea I’ve ever heard.’

‘Probably,’ nods Youngjo.

‘He’s your least favourite person in the _world_!’

‘Second least favourite person. And if it pisses off the least favourite then it’s worth it.’ He swivels on his chair. Hwanwoong looks as aghast as he did the moment that Youngjo first told him – then, he’d choked on his smoothie so violently that Youngjo had had to pound him on the back. ‘Look, if after today I think it’s not going to work, then I win anyway, right? Even just one date will drive Daeho up the wall. He’s been all over the press trying to make out we’re going to get back together – if I show up at _his_ premiere with Korea’s top ballad singer on my arm? It’s perfect, Hwanwoong.’

His friend makes a non-committal sound. ‘I don’t know. Your remedy seems a little too extreme for the ailment.’

‘Hah! If you think that, I can hardly believe you ever knew Daeho.’

Hwanwoong frowns. ‘I was there, Youngjo. I watched everything he put you through, remember? I hate him almost as much as you do. It killed me having to see you like that, like – like a ghost. But Lee Keonhee, I don’t even know if you can trust him. It sounds like he’s always out for himself.’

Youngjo shakes his head. ‘He’s a lot of things, but he sticks to his word. He’s stubborn as anything. When he commits to something, he _commits_.’

Hwanwoong looks at him with one eyebrow half-raised and an inquisitive expression knotting his features. It makes Youngjo feel like he’s being cross-examined. ‘I’ve always said you talk about him a lot for someone who you say you hate.’

‘I don’t talk about him that much!’

Hwanwoong continues with smirk. ‘If I didn’t know you so well, I’d think you’d orchestrated this whole thing just to get him to go with the premiere with you before calling it off. It’s not like you’d need to go so far as marrying the guy. But I do know you, and I know you wouldn’t mess with someone like that. Even your nemesis. Which begs the question, what _other_ ulterior motive could you have?’

Youngjo is about to reply when there’s a tap at the door, and they both turn.

‘Big smiles,’ says Hwanwoong, before plastering a caricature of friendliness across his face.

Outside the door is Lee Keonhee, and Youngjo feels his mouth turn dry.

Keonhee looks his very best. He’s taller than Youngjo, and the difference is exaggerated by his slender, willowy frame. It’s a model’s body, and clothes hang off him like they do on the runway. His hair is smoothed down, sleek and professional, like he _could_ be the CEO of a sapphire empire just as much as an award-winning recording artist. The make-up on his face isn’t so visible as Youngjo’s, but it’s there to highlight all of his sharpest lines, his high cheekbones. Youngjo doesn’t need to like him to know that he looks good.

That’s excellent.

The better he looks, the more it will annoy Daeho.

‘You look… good,’ he says.

Keonhee doesn’t thank him, but instead stalks into the room and looks around like he expects to find hidden cameras lurking.

‘Very romantic. I’m surprised the two of you can keep your hands off each other with chemistry like that,’ says Hwanwoong, voice dry. ‘Very convincing.’

Keonhee whips around, then glares at the two of them. ‘You _told_ him?’

‘Woong? Of course. He’s my best friend.’

‘I remember,’ snaps Keonhee. ‘You should have asked me first. How do I know he can be trusted?’

‘Don’t worry, just talk about me like I’m not here,’ says Hwanwoong with a roll of his eyes. He picks up Youngjo’s phone and diary, everything that he’ll take care of for him while he’s walking the carpet. ‘I’m going to tell the driver that you’re ready to leave,’ he says, only to Youngjo. Then he pauses when a phone rings, and there’s a moment when he fumbles between Youngjo’s and his own before realising which one is ringing. ‘It’s Dongju. Gotta take this.’

Youngjo watches him skip out into the corridor with a fond expression. Ever since that night at the club, this once-stranger Dongju has been blowing up Hwanwoong’s phone. Whenever his friend talks about him, he goes all moon-eyed, and that’s new for Youngjo to see.

Keonhee looks at Youngjo with an analytical expression, and Youngjo narrows his eyes. ‘What?’

‘You look good too,’ he says. The tone suggests he’s commenting on a car, or a piece of clothing, rather than the appearance of his arch nemesis. ‘I think that my family will believe that I could go for someone like you. I’m very discerning, you see. I was worried that no one would find me dating believable. But you meet a standard.’

‘Hwanwoong’s right,’ says Youngjo with a light laugh, ‘the chemistry’s almost too hot to handle.’

‘Besides, none of them will be expecting me to be seen with another man. They’d assume if I was going to set something up, it would be with a woman…’ he muses aloud, checking his black tie in the mirror and adjusting his collar.

It strikes Youngjo for a second that he’s never thought about Keonhee _dating_ before. As far as he knows, he’s never publicly seen anyone, and he can’t remember him having partners back at college. ‘Do you usually date women, then?’ he asks.

‘Does it matter? It’s not like anything between us is supposed to be real.’

‘No,’ Youngjo shrugs, and he knows that Keonhee is right; there’s no reason why he should care. However that doesn’t stop him wanting to know. ‘Just curious.’

‘I don’t usually date anyone at all,’ says Keonhee by way of an answer.

‘Your choice or theirs?’

‘Both.’

Youngjo’s lips twitch into a smile. ‘I can hardly imagine why.’

~

‘Nervous?’ asks Youngjo.

They’re side by side in the back of Keonhee’s car, a glinting claret _Rolls_. It has already stopped, pulled up alongside the start of the red carpet ready for their entrance. The interior is cream leather, and there are little crystal stars studded overhead. It is the most luxurious car that Youngjo has ever sat in, and he thinks that he and Keonhee expose the gulf between the rich and the super rich. His eyes travel down to Keonhee’s hands, turning over anxiously in his lap.

‘No,’ lies Keonhee. He fiddles with his bright sapphire cufflinks.

‘Here,’ Youngjo unhooks his own cufflinks, simple silver, and holds them out. ‘Let’s swap.’

Keonhee looks up at him. ‘Excuse me?’

‘It’s all about details, Keonhee,’ he says. ‘We’re under the lens. People will look at this sort of thing.’

‘Smart,’ exhales Keonhee. He holds out his cufflinks for Youngjo and he takes them. They’re weighty in his palm, and he wouldn’t need to know Keonhee’s background to recognise them as valuable.

As Youngjo hooks them onto his shirt, he feels a strange sensation in the pit of his abdomen. It feels like wearing a part of Keonhee, like carrying him with him. Since the day they met, he’s never been able to see a crystal blue stone without thinking about him. And now he’s wearing them. ‘All in?’ he says with a quiver in his voice.

Keonhee meets his eyes and nods. ‘All in.’

Without a moment more of hesitation in which he could potentially change his mind, Youngjo pushes open the car door. Immediately, he is hit by the screams of fans, a few metres away behind a long metal barricade. The movie theatre stands tall and imposing overhead, and the quiet sanctuary of the car feels like a long time ago even though the attack of sound has only lasted a second. Youngjo gives a small wave to the crush of fans as he crosses round the car to open Keonhee’s door for him.

 _No turning back now_ , he thinks.

The scream moves up another decibel when Keonhee climbs out of the car. He doesn’t take Youngjo’s hand for assistance – he barely looks at him at all – and Youngjo curses internally. He knows that he is the actor, but Keonhee needs to do better than this. He lowers his hand to the small of Keonhee’s back, just brushing the back of his jacket to guide him to the carpet. He feels Keonhee tense up.

‘Smile,’ Youngjo reminds him, through one corner of his lips.

Keonhee straightens up, and to his credit follows his lead. He, too, has a face for the camera, and they both smile as they walk onto the carpet. Youngjo’s face stays straight ahead but his eyes flit from side to side, searching for any sign of Daeho. There’s a sign of him alright, his face on every banner, but in physical form he’s thankfully absent. Or is it frustrating?

The screams are so loud that Youngjo’s right ear starts to ring. Only when they’re under the cover of the theatre’s canopy can he even hear himself think again, and that’s a short-lived pleasure when the first reporter appears, shoving a microphone between them.

‘Mr Kim! Some questioned whether you would attend tonight in light of - ’

‘Just here to enjoy the movie,’ he interrupts. If it is one thing that he is trained in after years in the spotlight, it’s deflecting questions that he does not want to answer.

Another eager reporter takes her place with a shove. ‘Mr Lee! Did you have any involvement in the making of this movie?’

Keonhee stands up, if possible, even taller. ‘I’m here as Youngjo-hyung’s guest,’ he says, tone breezy and polite and offering a thousand unspoken questions. Youngjo’s lips curve up. Keonhee is a man who’s been trained in the art of public speaking from a young age. ‘It’s an honour to walk the carpet alongside great actors and filmmakers.’

When they stop for photographs, Youngjo stands at a diagonal angle beside Keonhee, the way one would with a partner, and lifts his hand to smooth his own lapel, only so that the flashes of the cameras capture the glittering sapphires on his cuff.

‘Over here! Mr Kim!’

‘This way!’

‘Smile! Can you give us a heart?’

‘Mr Lee - ’

Youngjo’s vision is spattered with splotches of light whenever he blinks as the cameras flash. They stay for much longer than he would usually wait; it’s rare that he _wants_ every small movement that he makes to be captured. He rests a hand up on Keonhee’s shoulder, and this time Keonhee does not flinch. He doesn’t touch him back, but he doesn’t tense every muscle either. Then –

‘Mr Sun! Mr Sun!’

Youngjo turns, and his jaw sets when he sees that Daeho has appeared. He’s barely five metres away from them.

He is just shorter than Youngjo and Keonhee, but wears leather boots with a slight heel. His hair is bleached white blond, ears pierced with long, dangling silver earrings. At first, he’s talking to someone that Youngjo doesn’t recognise, but then he looks across at them like he sensed his presence, and Youngjo feels heat rise up his neck. Their eyes meet, and Youngjo wonders whether years of acting mean that he can fully transmit his disgust with a simple blink of his eyes.

Keonhee looks over too, and his lips tighten in a thin line. He takes Youngjo’s wrist in his hand and pulls him away. It is the first time that he has touched him like this. Youngjo’s eyes tear from Daeho, and he wishes that he could conjure up a smile, but he has to settle for a neutral expression that he hopes passes as total disinterest.

Not until they are inside the theatre does Keonhee release Youngjo’s wrist.

~

‘Rise and shine!’

Youngjo rolls over onto his front with a groan and buries his face in his pillow so far that his voice is muffled. ‘What time is it?’

‘It’s hot off the press time!’ answers Hwanwoong in a sing-song melody. The bed depresses as he jumps beside Youngjo and thwacks him on the shoulder with a wad of tabloids. ‘And I brought you coffee.’

That is enough to tempt Youngjo to roll onto his back, and he stares up at the unfamiliar ceiling for a moment before the scent of coffee finds its way to him from his friend’s hand, and then he sits up properly. Hwanwoong passes him the lilac travel cup and then holds up the magazines.

‘I thought you’d want to read!’

Youngjo looks around the hotel room and his eyes settle on his suit from the previous night, thrown over the desk chair. He’s always loved that first minute upon waking, when the memories don’t catch up yet and life feels blissful in peace. Only when he looks from the suit to the tabloids does he remember what he and Lee Keonhee did last night, the ridiculous, outrageous plan that they set in motion. He feels sick and excited at the same time.

His first sip of coffee brings life to his veins and he exhales a happy sigh. In this room, with only his friend and a fresh coffee, the chaos outside, the chaos that he may well have triggered last night, seems far away. He flips open the first magazine and then narrows his eyes.

_University pals? Kim Youngjo attends_ Blue _premiere with long-time friend Lee Keonhee._

‘Oh come on,’ he says with a sigh. ‘Really?’

‘How about this one?’ Hwanwoong reads out from another paper. ‘“ _Many expected Kim Youngjo to attend with former partner Sun Daeho, but his arrival with guest Lee Keonhee has dampened hopes of a reunion of the beloved couple_.” That’s positive, right?’

‘I mean it’s better,’ says Youngjo, ‘but it’s not _enough_.’ He drinks more of his coffee, even though it’s so hot that it burns his tongue. He searches through the magazines at breakneck pace. ‘None of them even spotted the sapphire cufflinks. Why do I bother having good ideas?’

‘No, no this one does!’ interrupts Hwanwoong, but then his face falls. ‘Oh, no. They’re saying that you wore them because of the film being called _Blue_ … in fact they think you were trying to subtly promote… you know… him…’

Youngjo swears and takes that particular magazine to toss it aside.

_Trying to make someone jealous? Sparks fly at_ Blue _premiere…_

_Kim Youngjo and Lee Keonhee shock appearance…_

_An unexpected friendship…_

He scans the headlines and bites his lip, wondering whether Keonhee is reading the morning news too.

‘Maybe this is a good time to scrap the idea?’ suggests Hwanwoong with a weak smile. ‘You’ve had your fun, I’m sure it pissed off Daeho, but - ’

‘We didn’t do enough,’ says Youngjo. His resolve is strengthened rather than weakened, and he drains the rest of his coffee cup as if the new day must start right now, like he must wake Keonhee this instant so that they can plan their next move. ‘We have to try harder next time. I need to text Keonhee.’ He reaches for his phone. There was a time when he never could have imagined having Lee Keonhee’s phone number on speed-dial, but times have changed so drastically that the Youngjo of a couple of weeks ago even feels like a stranger.

‘How was he?’ asks Hwanwoong. ‘Annoying as ever?’

Youngjo looks up absentmindedly. ‘Keonhee? Oh, he was fine. I mean he walks like he has a stick up his ass and switches between monosyllabic and completely insufferable with no in-between, but he was fine.’

‘Interesting,’ muses Hwanwoong.

‘What’s interesting?’

Hwanwoong scoffs. ‘My best friend announced that he’s planning a bogus marriage with his arch enemy, what _isn’t_ interesting about the whole affair?’

 _Well when you put it like that_ , he thinks. His eyes glance over to the nightstand, and he notices the sapphire cufflinks left there. ‘I need to return those,’ he says, unsure how it feels to have a piece of Keonhee here in the room with him.

‘Well I’m sure you’ll have plenty of opportunities to return them, since the two of you will be seeing so much of each other now. It’s not like you only had a couple of commercials left before being free of each other forever, and instead chose to bind yourselves together in the most significant way possible for the _rest of your lives_.’

Youngjo gives Hwanwoong a light shove, and the latter sprawls out with significant melodrama. 

‘Hey, hey! Don’t attack me for speaking the truth!’ Hwanwoong laughs, unable to stop himself. ‘It wasn’t a criticism. I love how batshit you are. I’m sure the two of you will be very happy together.’

Youngjo is about to start a full-on playfight when his phone buzzes on the bed, and he looks down in surprise. He thinks that of all of the people in the world, Daeho and Keonhee included, this is the worst possible name to flash up on the screen at this moment. He gulps.

‘Who is it?’ asks Hwanwoong, breath knocked out of him.

‘My _mother_ ,’ says Youngjo with a grimace.

‘Did you – did you plan what you were going to tell her?’

‘I didn’t even think!’

Hwanwoong bites back another laugh and forces a more sober expression on his face. ‘It was nice knowing you, Kim Youngjo.’

~

Keonhee runs his fingertips over the gold plaque on the office door, and wonders at what point it becomes appropriate to remove the title of one’s deceased father. _Chief Executive Officer_. At some point, someone will suggest engraving a new one with his name, etched like the music awards on his mantlepiece at home. He sighs, and pushes the office door open.

It looks just as it did the last time he entered, like his father could swivel around on that high leather chair any second. His pen is still on his notebook, and when Keonhee wanders around the desk, he sees that the spare pair of freshly shined shoes still sit beside the bottom drawer. He almost smiles, but he doesn’t remember ever smiling in this office before, and there seems no need to break the habit of a lifetime. The purpose of his visit is not sentimental.

He places down the strong boxes on the desk and picks up the first of his father’s books to stack them side by side ready to take back to the house. As of yet, he hasn’t thought far enough ahead about what to do with everything then, but clearing the office feels like a step in the right direction.

‘I brought some bubble wrap in case you need it.’

He looks up. Seoho has followed him into the office. His cousin is the only person that he can tolerate in the building, and sometimes when they go to pick up lunch together, Keonhee can hardly believe that he was raised by his authoritarian uncle. He’s shy, sweet, and one of the very few people in the world who can actually make Keonhee laugh. ‘Thanks,’ he says, taking the roll from Seoho, ‘I guess my father accumulated a lot of stuff.’

‘Well, he’s had this office since we could walk,’ says Seoho, eyes cast around the vast room.

The desk could belong to a president, and the window looks out over the most expensive district of Seoul. Along one wall, there is a collection of sapphires in glass cases. Keonhee walks over and picks them up to put in one of the boxes, like they’re nothing more than old ornaments.

‘I saw you at the _Blue_ premiere,’ smiles Seoho. ‘Are you and Kim Youngjo… you know… an item?’

Keonhee pauses, tapping his nails on one of the cases. ‘Yes,’ he says, and his voice is calm. ‘I would’ve told you before but we’re been keeping it on the down low. With everything that’s happened recently I just started asking myself: why am I keeping secrets like this? Life is too short and…’ The lies roll out easily, and he’s reminded of his acting classes at college. He was good at it. Not as good as Youngjo, something that nagged at the back of his mind for years because he’s nothing if not self-aware.

Seoho walks up behind him and squeezes his shoulder. ‘I’m happy for you. It’s cool that you’re being open about yourself and who you are.’

Keonhee notices the subtext, and finds himself caught in a still moment for thought. The contrived nature of the arrangement meant that he hadn’t thought any differently about feigning a relationship with Youngjo to feigning one with anyone else, but he supposes that people will still be surprised to see him with a man rather than a woman. It’s not something he ever imagined himself doing. He shrugs. ‘There’s no point in living a false life. I am who I am.’

The irony is not lost on him.

~

Youngjo crosses the town to the café incognito, his hood pulled low despite the temperature, and large sunglasses shielding most of his face. His clothes display his wealth, designer jeans and a jacket that cost as much as his college tuition had once upon a time. When he was growing up, he wore the hand-me-downs from his older sister and his father, a bizarre combination that made the other kids at school laugh at him. By the time he reached college, all of his money was spent on his course and he dressed in the same three outfits on a loop.

He remembers the first time that he bought his mum a brand new coat for the winter, and she’d scolded him for the unnecessary cost. It had taken a couple of years for her to grow used to the fact that his money wasn’t going to run out anymore.

When he gets closer to the café, he notices the paparazzi hanging around. They are incognito, but the cameras by their sides cannot be hidden. Keonhee has called them. Youngjo ducks his head and hurries into the café, a small but upmarket place with white and wood furnishings and classical artwork hung on every wall. As his eyes flit around the room, he sees Keonhee at a seat by the window, in plain view of the street.

‘Hey,’ he says, pushing his hood back.

Keonhee puts down his phone and offers him a smile. ‘Hug me,’ he says through tight teeth as he stands up, and Youngjo stalls for a split second before obliging.

He’s never been this close to Keonhee. Their cheeks touch as he rests his chin down on his shoulder in a hug, and he reminds himself to think of it as a film set. Keonhee is warm, dressed in a fresh blue shirt that smells like jasmine, Youngjo takes a moment to breathe in deeply, conscious that the cameras will be snapping every millisecond that they spend in each other’s arms.

‘This enough?’ he says, but his teeth aren’t so gritted as Keonhee’s. In all of the years that they’ve known each other, he never expected to be so close that their skin would brush and his arms would light up with goose-bumps.

‘You tell me,’ says Keonhee, and then he finally pushes him back a little, hands on his arms like he’s surveying him before they sit down. ‘Not bad, by the way.’

‘I’m an actor,’ he answers by means of explanation.

He goes to sit down, and Keonhee smiles at him with uncharacteristic charm. It’s unnerving. ‘I’ll get you your drink.’

‘Caramel latte,’ he says, ‘I’ll give you the money later.’

‘I don’t think either of us need to worry about that.’

‘I’ll pay.’

There’s a moment in which they hold each other’s eyes, and then Keonhee heads off to the counter and Youngjo chances a sideways look out of the window. People are photographing them, alright. This is good. Exactly what they need. _Friends_ is not enough, and certain outlets will do anything to argue that two high profile men are doing anything other than dating. Youngjo’s sexuality is no mystery, but he knows that Keonhee’s remains so.

‘I brought you these back.’ Youngjo passes across a small jewellery box containing Keonhee’s cufflinks, when he returns to the table. ‘Don’t open them. It’s your cufflinks from the other night.’

Keonhee beams like he’s received a beautiful present, and Youngjo is struck by how much his acting has improved. He, too, must have been reinvigorated by the lacklustre articles. It’s even more important for him to convince people than Youngjo. Everything rides on his performance. ‘I think we need to take things to the next level,’ says Keonhee, and before Youngjo even notices his movement, he has reached out and taken Youngjo’s hand on the table.

In spite of himself, Youngjo jumps slightly. Keonhee’s hands are cooler than the rest of him, and he interlinks their fingers like they’ve been doing it every day for a long time. Youngjo lets him, praying that his hands aren’t clammy from the nerves, and looks down at their joined hands. Keonhee is wearing two sapphire rings, and the watch he’s worn since college. Youngjo thinks that sapphires are quite a beautiful stone, more precious than clear, empty diamonds.

Every sapphire holds a story, buried in indigo depths as encompassing as the sea. He thinks that if he examined one closely enough, he would be able to read its life story since inception.

‘Where do they come from?’ he asks Keonhee, because they need some kind of conversation to fill this time together. ‘Sapphires, I mean.’

Keonhee releases his hand and runs his fingertips over one of his rings. ‘Gem quality corundum, a mineral. They come in many forms and colours, not only blue. Pink, green, even incandescent sapphires that change with the very light you shine upon them. The red corundum is known as a ruby but by nature is a sapphire as much as any other.’

‘I never knew that,’ Youngjo says honestly.

‘It’s the first thing my father taught me.’ Keonhee takes off the ring and turns it over in his palm. ‘Before I learned to read, before I learned to write or add numbers, I knew where these were from.’

‘How many do you have?’

‘Hm?’ Keonhee raises his eyebrows.

‘Your company. How many of the world’s sapphires do you think you possess?’

Keonhee stirs his second coffee. ‘Around 40% of the mined sapphires.’ When Youngjo’s mouth falls open in surprise, he laughs. ‘It is not so much. The world’s leading diamond company once distributed 85% of all diamonds. They’re a pretty stone,’ he adds, ‘there was a time that I resented wearing them but recently… they are a part of me.’

‘I thought that, when I had your cufflinks in my room,’ says Youngjo, and then he feels heat rise to his cheeks when he considers the implication of that. ‘I just mean – I just mean that I associate them with you. I always have, since college.’

‘Do you know what I associate with you?’

Youngjo cocks his head to the side. ‘What?’

‘The smell of burning wood. I always remember that night at the bonfire - ’

Youngjo laughs awkwardly, shaking his head. ‘We do _not_ talk about that night at the bonfire. I was so drunk.’

He wonders whether this is what it’s like for normal people, years after school and college, whether their hatchets are buried and they can share in old memories without the grudges of youth. The bonfire was towards the end of their sophomore year, when he and Keonhee had fronted the biggest production of the year and the cast had gone out for a take-no-prisoners party far out of town. He imagines that their classmates remember the moment fondly.

He can only remember he and Keonhee, red cups in hand, away in the dark, red embers from the fire burning out on the ground and –

‘That’s what I associate you with.’

A silence spills on the table between them. Youngjo sips his coffee and tries to concentrate on the flavour because that’s easier to get a grasp on than the ridiculous reality that they have created.

Keonhee is the one that breaks it, and he makes Youngjo choke on his drink. ‘I think we ought to kiss.’

‘W-what?’

‘It’s the one thing they can’t refute.’

Youngjo forces himself to not look out of the window again. It feels like filming on set, creating a scene behind a screen while cameras track his every movement, a director barking out orders. Except this is so much more than work, it’s his life that he’s playing with. ‘Right.’

‘So that’s a yes?’

‘You’ll have to make it look more romantic than that,’ he says, and his mouth is very dry. He drains his coffee, like that’ll make a kiss more appealing, and his eyes are drawn to Keonhee’s lips. They’re pink, pretty, and there’s a slight swelling where Keonhee bothers his lower lip with his teeth when he’s anxious. He jumps when Keonhee takes his hand again, and his heart pounds against his chest. It seems to beat at an irregular rhythm, unsure whether to quicken in pace because it believes the performance they’re putting on.

‘I’m not sure that I can do romance.’

‘I’ll do it,’ Youngjo says, and for some reason his breath catches in his throat. He’s kissed so many co-stars on screen; this should be no different. He lifts one hand and touches it gently to Keonhee’s neck, thumb brushing his skin, and he feels the imperceptible change in Keonhee’s posture. He straightens up, and Youngjo toys with the thought that if he grazed his finger a little higher he’d be able to feel his pulse. Would it quicken under his touch?

He leans closer, and when their foreheads touch he breathes in the air between them just to memorise the strangest moment of his life. Their lips touch with featherlight precision, and Youngjo feels the earth teeter a little. It’s so wrong and so right that he feels his lips curve up into a half smile. Keonhee touches his cheek, but it’s light, like he’s afraid to push things too far in a situation that fell off the deep end long ago. The kiss lasts barely five seconds, and then Youngjo breaks away, swallowing down a strange surge of sensation.

‘At least you’re better at kissing than you are at acting,’ Keonhee says drily, and Youngjo swats his hand the way that one might a friend’s, or a lover’s.

‘You love my acting.’

‘You were… fine, at college,’ he shrugs.

Youngjo exhales and shakes his head. ‘And now?’

Keonhee licks his lips, then the tips of his ears turn pink at the realisation that Youngjo watched him do so. ‘You’re fine now, too.’

‘Do you remember singing classes? Our teacher always moved you to the front. I remember one time she made you demonstrate runs just so that the rest of us could see how it was done.’

Keonhee clears his throat and taps his manicured nails on the table. ‘Understandable. I was far better than the rest of you even then.’

A laugh chases over Youngjo’s features. He remembers even then, how Keonhee could never admit that anyone was up to his standard in any of the disciplines. ‘Do you think they caught it?’ he asks, referring to the reporters camped outside.

‘Live and unedited,’ Keonhee nods. ‘We need to plan our next move.’

‘I told my mum about us,’ he blurts out.

Keonhee hesitates, then says awkwardly, ‘yes, I had to tell my cousin too. A complication we hadn’t considered.’

Silence.

‘A kiss is something we can’t take back.’

‘I know,’ says Keonhee. ‘I hope you don’t have cold feet.’

‘ _Me_? I hope _you_ don’t have cold feet!’ Youngjo splutters in outrage, as if this is one of their many competitions.

‘I don’t if you don’t.’

Youngjo tilts his chin up. ‘If you think I’m quitting, then you don’t know me at all.’

Between them, a moment of shared commitment shines in aura. Commitment, or stubbornness, because this game has become so much more than a means to an end; as of today it’s a competition that neither of them dares to withdraw from. Neither Kim Youngjo or Lee Keonhee would ever accept such a defeat.

~

The Lee mansion sprawls across too many acres of the outer-city, dressed up in an ancient style that precedes its build-date. The beautiful painted coving is incongruent alongside the vast fountain that dominates the driveway, and the delicate wisterias outside are too fine for the grand, monolithic structure of the main house. It’s a property built for the masses in which so few live, and even now Keonhee feels small in its shadow. It is all his now.

Both of his younger sisters still live here, but he rarely sees them. The older of the two manages half of the affairs at the company, and the younger is always catching the next flight out of the country to visit a distant nation and return with stories that Keonhee, with the weight of familiar responsibility on his shoulders, has never come to imagine.

The security open the doors for him, and he takes the stairs of the grand, curved staircase two at a time. He does not take the time to look at the huge sapphire encased in armoured glass in the lobby, or the artworks of his deceased family members hanging alongside the staircase passing their judgment on him. His only thought is of his bedroom, and the promise of freshly laundered sheets and a steam shower.

Inside his childhood bedroom, he collapses face first on the silk sheets.

He feels strange, his skin a little too sensitive and his mind wired, like he’s exposed himself today in a way that he never has before.

He rolls onto his back and looks up at the blue curtains hung over the head of his bed. With a shaky sigh, he runs his fingertips over his lips and touches at the ghost of his first kiss. Of course it had to be with Kim Youngjo. He frowns up at the canopy and remembers the one time in his life before that he had almost kissed somebody, and the irony at that memory makes him roll his eyes. The past and the present collide in a confusion of memories and he swears that he can still taste the coffee on his lips. Youngjo’s coffee.

As he pinches at his lower lip with his nails, his phone buzzes in his pocket.

When he withdraws it, he throws it across the bed with a grunt of anger and exhaustion from a day far more draining than he’d anticipated when he’d woken up in the morning.

 **[21:24] Manyoung:** I know what you’re doing.

‘I hope you do,’ Keonhee mutters aloud to the ceiling. The ceiling being one of his closest confidants for many years. It always listens to whatever he has to say, without argument, and without offering unhelpful advice that he won’t ever take. When he was very young, his mother had stuck glowing stars to the ceiling. Keonhee doesn’t remember when his father took them down; probably when he was away at boarding school. All he remembers is getting home one holiday and they were no longer there. Nor was his mother.

~

By the time that they film their next commercial, the Korean press is in meltdown. Every headline in the country includes two names, and the producers have to close off the beach where they’re recording just to keep the paparazzi away. _YoungHee_ fever has gripped the consciousness of the public, and between his filming schedule and his new relationship schedule, Youngjo has not even had the time to consider that his fame has been taken to a whole new level.

‘I’ll give it to you,’ remarks Hwanwoong, flicking through a tabloid. He doesn’t hide them anymore, but instead carries them in his bag everywhere and passes them to Youngjo at random intervals. ‘I never expected you to take it this far. You _kissed_ him. Was it gross?’

‘Like kissing anyone else,’ Youngjo shrugs, unwilling to mention any of the strange feeling that he felt in his lower midriff when they kissed, even to his best friend. ‘It’s not a big deal. I’ve kissed a bunch of people making movies.’

‘What does he taste like? Wealth and resentment?’

‘Coffee.’

‘Boring,’ yawns Hwanwoong, and then he smirks. ‘Dongju tastes like margaritas on a sunny day.’

Youngjo is happy to have the subject on anything but Keonhee for a while, so he grins. ‘I’ve never seen you fall so hard.’

‘He wants me to go to meet his twin brother,’ says Hwanwoong, with an air of smugness. ‘You know that’s a bigger deal than meeting the parents, right? At this rate we’ll be married before the two of you.’

The _M-_ word makes Youngjo jolt back to reality. Dating Keonhee has been easier than he anticipated, but the other thing? He treats it as well into the future. A part of him, a coward buried low in his gut, hopes and prays that Keonhee will call the whole thing off at the last minute. It has to be Keonhee. Youngjo won’t be the quitter. ‘Well we’ll be setting a date soon, so you’ll have to hurry up.’

‘Setting a date already?’ Hwanwoong’s expression sobers. ‘Youngjo - ’

‘I want to see Daeho the moment it’s announced. I want to see the moment the smug, ugly smile is wiped off his face, and - ’ he stops, raising his eyebrows. ‘What?’

‘Nothing,’ says Hwanwoong, but Hwanwoong never keeps his mouth shut for long so he continues in a second. ‘It’s just from what I’ve read, Daeho is angry enough already. I don’t know why you have to go so far as the old _I-Do-s_.’

‘Well that’s part of the deal,’ he says honestly. ‘That’s what Keonhee gets from this.’

‘That, and you! He gets you.’

‘Lucky him,’ says Youngjo with a tone of sarcasm.

‘He’s a lucky man.’ There’s none of Hwanwoong’s usual humour there. ‘I don’t think he deserves it. But I guess that’s the trick of luck.’

When the call for the first scene rings out, Youngjo stands up and straightens his costume. It’s less of a costume and more of a raid on an idol’s closet, soft pastels and painfully white sneakers straight from the box. The look makes him appear younger, more immature than the leather jacket he carries everywhere or the black nail polish that he’s been made to remove.

Outside on the sand, he catches Keonhee’s eye, and smiles. The smiles are becoming more automatic already, not something that he has to fake. The crew are whispering about them, but it sounds like one long, indiscernible low hum to Youngjo. He’s never worried too much about what people are saying about him.

Keonhee is dressed in a white jacket, pale pink collared shirt and white denim jeans. A long earring hangs from one lobe down to his shoulder in shining silver, but the sapphire watch gleams on his wrist as ever. As they reach each other, Keonhee holds out his hand for Youngjo to take, like as his boyfriend he must guide him all the way to their marks. Youngjo allows him that, and the murmuring in the surrounding crew increases to a constant, loud drone.

‘You suit the concept,’ says Keonhee. ‘It’s surprising. I never expected that this kind of thing could work on you.’

‘I’ll have you know I’m very versatile!’ snaps back Youngjo, voice more than a little defensive.

‘Information that you ought to reserve for your boyfriend,’ says Keonhee, and it’s a moment before Youngjo processes his words, then –

‘You _are_ my boyfriend,’ he says with a false grin plastered over his face, eyes wide. He thinks that it might be the first time that he’s ever heard Keonhee make a joke.

‘Did I question it?’

As they move to their marks, Youngjo notices that since they began their charade, Keonhee has not snapped once at a staff member. He hasn’t clicked his fingers irritably, or shouted out demands. Youngjo supposes that he’s on his best behaviour. It suits him as much as the soft concept suits Youngjo.

When they have to separate hands, Keonhee holds on too long, and Youngjo finds his eyes drawn to the connection between them. Keonhee must have been practising. He portrays the wistful sadness of a lover letting go most unlike someone who has never opened his heart to another human being.

~

Youngjo is halfway around the market when the paparazzi find him, and he quickly pushes the last of his fresh produce into his basket before ducking away. Amongst the market crowd it is hot enough already, and his head is sweating under his baseball cap, and with the eyes of the cameras on him, he starts to feel that tell-tale suffocating feeling, the same one that he always gets in elevators or crowds or windowless rooms. His heart pounds against his chest and he swallows down anxiety, all thoughts of his shopping for dinner forgotten.

‘Kim Youngjo! Youngjo, this way!’

The more that the reporters shout at him, the more that the rest of the crowd start to recognise him too, and he gulps. Hwanwoong has been telling him to get a bodyguard for ages. Suddenly, surrounded by a crowd that could crush him in a second, he feels vulnerable.

‘That’s Kim Youngjo?’

Someone screams.

‘Youngjo? What can you tell us about Lee Keonhee?’

‘How long have you been dating?’

He drops his basket, and doesn’t know whether or not to pick it up. Panic takes hold of his chest, squeezing and squeezing and not letting go until –

‘Youngjo-hyung?’

The voice is softer, and he recognises it strangely, as though it’s from his distant past.

Youngjo looks up and squints for a second to try to dig up the memory, before he recognises Kim Geonhak. It’s been a long time, and Geonhak has changed his style, switching out leather and white tanks for a smart shirt and Oxfords. ‘Geonhak?’ he says, in astonishment, forgetting all about the crowd for a second until someone pushes into his back in their haste to get to him. He jolts forward.

Geonhak crouches down and picks up his basket of shopping before jerking his head. ‘Come with me. My theatre is just round the block.’

Even though it has been years since they last saw each other, Youngjo is in no mood to argue, and follows without hesitation. The grip on his heart only dissipates once they are onto a more open street, but he is conscious of the horde that follows them. ‘Your theatre?’ he asks breathlessly.

‘It might be a little smaller than you’re used to,’ smiles Geonhak, before gesturing to a small, nondescript building buried between a real estate office and a block of flats. He opens the side door with a key and keycode before letting him inside and closing the door firmly shut behind them, silencing the gang in their wake. For a second it’s dark, and then Geonhak fumbles a light and Youngjo finds himself in a narrow corridor, props stacked up against one wall, reminiscent of his early days in student theatre.

‘Thanks for the rescue,’ exhales Youngjo.

‘No problem,’ Geonhak smiles. ‘It looked like you needed a hand.’

‘Do you own this theatre?’ Youngjo asks, curiosity taking over him.

Geonhak laughs and heads to the lobby. There’s a small bar, but the interior is mostly in a state of disrepair. ‘No, no. I run the amateur dramatics society here. I’m teaching, now. Performing arts at one of the schools downtown. The kids don’t have a whole lot of opportunities but I think it helps them.’

Youngjo remembers when they first met at college. Geonhak had been one of Keonhee’s friends, but more-so one of those people who seemed to be friends with everyone. It derived from the fact that he was kind-hearted, willing to engage in occasional but responsible silliness, and most of all one of the good guys. ‘That’s great,’ he says, and there’s not a hint of dishonesty in his voice.

‘I guess it’s not quite the glittering heights of you and Keonhee. But I’m happy with it.’

‘The glittering heights and lights aren’t so perfect,’ shrugs Youngjo, registering the way that his and Keonhee’s names are rolled together now. _You and Keonhee. You and Keonhee._

‘When I heard you two were dating…’ Geonhak trails off and leans back against the empty bar with a laugh. ‘In a way I always expected it but not _now_.’

Youngjo rearranges his face with a level of expertise gained only from acting as a career. It’s easier to keep up his charade in pre-arranged scenes, but in moments like this he is still caught off guard. ‘I guess it… came out of nowhere. But we’ve always been connected. It was a matter of waiting until the time was right.’

Geonhak nods. ‘I remember that night at the bonfire.’

‘Oh, yeah, that,’ he laughs.

‘Keonhee was so sure that you were going to kiss him. He was crushed when you walked away.’

It is testament to so many years of acting that Youngjo manages to betray nothing on his face, if only for a glimmer of astonishment in his eyes. He closes his fingers tighter on the bar, nails digging into the wood, but his arms feel weak and that’s _good_ compared to his legs, which feel like jelly. The night at the bonfire. _Keonhee_. He recalls the liquor that he drank and the argument that they’d had away from the rest of the crew, but he cannot recall the look in Keonhee’s eyes.

Was that what he was thinking about?

 _‘God I hate you._ ’

‘ _Why_?’

‘ _You know why_.’

The conversation in the club drifts back into his consciousness and he wishes that he had a seat to collapse down into. Is this the resounding memory that Keonhee has carried with him all of these years? To Youngjo it’s a blur. He closes his eyes, little more than a blink, and visualises them standing alone in the darkness. In retrospect, it is easy to imagine Keonhee watching his lips, the tension between them palpable, but hindsight is a clever thing. It messes with the memory.

‘Yeah,’ he manages to laugh, when the realisation hits him that as boyfriends, partners, this scene is of _course_ something that Keonhee would have since shared with him. Their old mutual friend, Geonhak, would of _course_ assume that Youngjo knew all about it. ‘I guess we’re making up for lost time now.’

There’s a roaring in his ears, the audible sound of his brain re-writing memories, and he wonders whether he’ll ever be able to trust his memories from that time ever again. Suddenly, Keonhee’s sparring with him in his mind takes on a form of flirting, and the competitiveness seems playful; he tries to remember that night at the bonfire, but it’s a haze of cheap booze and versions of events that he may well have recreated from scratch. He remembers walking away from the party with Keonhee, the two of them caught up in such an argument that they drifted from the crowd just to be heard over the noise.

He remembers a moment when Keonhee fumbled with his jacket, and Youngjo had thought that he was trying to start a real fight with him at last, and pushed him away. He thinks at last that he can pinpoint the moment at which Keonhee started treating him with utter disdain, unconcealed dislike. As he searches around for long-lost truths, he kneads his forehead with his fingertips and sighs.

It does not escape his thoughts that Keonhee mentioned the bonfire to him only a couple of weeks ago.

Perhaps that memory lingers on Keonhee’s mind more than it ever has Youngjo’s.

~

Keonhee arrives at Youngjo’s apartment early in the morning. There are paparazzi outside the complex, but they can’t pass the security gates. It’s one of the most grand complexes in town, up in the hills, and when Keonhee enters he finds a walkway surrounded by greenery and outdoor seating hidden from view of the street, as well as a shared pool framed in frosted glass. It’s so different to Keonhee’s family home, and yet not so different at all in its lavishness. This is the home of Seoul’s young elites, newly rich, celebrities and socialites.

Not that Youngjo is part of that crowd, but no one in his class of fame can turn down the security, the privacy.

Today is part of their weekly meeting schedule. Dates are fine, but there are things that cannot be discussed in public. Keonhee doesn’t even like discussing them over the phone. This particular visit is the first to be held at Youngjo’s apartment, and Keonhee finds himself undeniably nervous as he follows the engraved bronze signage. There are three main blocks of apartments, and Youngjo lives in the tallest.

Despite the security at the entrance to the complex, Keonhee can still not enter the building without buzzing the intercom for Youngjo’s floor. It’s a moment before there’s a reply.

‘ _Delivering pizzas? At this time_?’ says Youngjo’s voice.

‘Let me in,’ mutters Keonhee.

If their relationship were real, he thinks that they would be the married for a decade kind, somewhat sick of each other. Then, a shudder runs down his spine at the intrusive thought that in actuality Youngjo would probably be quite a romantic partner. That’s the image he sells in the media, anyway. Perhaps it’s just for his adoring fans to lap up in their fantasies. Keonhee’s known him longer than any of them.

When he gets to the front door of Youngjo’s apartment, on the tenth floor, Youngjo is already waiting for him, lounging against the frame in loose black sweats and a white tee with a _Xavier Institute_ logo and slogan. ‘Where are the pizzas, then?’ he says, tone deadpan.

Keonhee narrows his eyes. ‘Are you going to invite me in or not?’

‘Ah, of course, I forgot: Lee Keonhee, the vampire. Cannot possibly enter without being invited.’

‘Would you _want_ me to start inviting myself into your home?’

He follows Youngjo inside, and his eyes scan around to take in everything at once. The apartment is full of things, from small figurines to potted plants to crochet throws on the couch. There’s too much for Keonhee to take in at once and he swallows nervously, not used to this kind of mess. Not that it’s mess, per-se. All of the things look nice.

‘At what stage in the relationship do I have to give you a key?’ Youngjo asks with a half smile.

‘I don’t want one.’

His mind travels to the box in his pocket, something far more intimate than a key that he will have to share with Youngjo.

‘Coffee?’

‘Tea,’ says Keonhee, following him into the large kitchen and running his eyes over the food on the counter. Youngjo doesn’t seem to use his cupboards, instead cramming pretty jars filled with grains and spices onto the granite counter. ‘Any important business to report from your end?’

Youngjo shrugs. ‘I have some interviews this week. So we need to make sure that we have our story very, very straight before I start sharing it in public. I’ve drawn up a draft that you can look over, and we can burn it after.’

At his attention to secrecy, Keonhee nods approvingly. Then he takes a deep breath and pulls out the blue velvet box from his pocket and places it down on the counter. ‘This is not a proposal.’

Youngjo raises his eyebrows and laughs. ‘Thank God for that.’

‘But we need to talk about it.’ Keonhee snaps open the box with one finger, revealing the ring inside. It is an emerald cut sapphire, bigger than Keonhee’s thumb nail and set in diamonds. The band is simple silver, engraved on the inner side with his parents’ names. The sapphire is of the finest cut, painfully valuable but Keonhee does not think about the financial worth. ‘It’s fourteen carat,’ he says, as if explaining anything more sentimental will cost too much of his heart.

‘Why are you showing me this?’ Youngjo leans closer, all the way over the ring until his eyes are mere inches from its stone.

‘Because you’ll have to wear it. This is the ring with which my father proposed to my mother. It is a Lee Sapphire, one of my grandmother’s collection until my father had it set into this ring. It was passed down to me when my mother died.’

‘I can’t take this,’ whispers Youngjo.

‘My uncle won’t believe that our engagement is anything close to real unless you wear it.’ Keonhee keeps his tone business-like, but inside his heart thuds. He cannot bear to pass over his most precious possession to Kim Youngjo, but there is no other way. He was up all night thinking about it, tossing and turning until he gave up on sleep altogether and drove to his studio instead. ‘I suppose I ought to keep it for now. Maybe we’ll have to arrange a grand public proposal.’

Youngjo shakes his head. ‘I am _not_ doing that. We’ll do it quietly.’ Then he sighs and looks back to the ring again. ‘I can’t take it, Keonhee.’

When he looks up and their eyes meet, Keonhee feels himself coming over oddly uncomfortable. It’s like Youngjo is analysing something, studying his face for answers that Keonhee has never given before, and he forces himself to look away first because it’s too unsettling to abide. With a snap of the box, it’s gone, back safe in his pocket before he must give it away for God knows how long. ‘You’re either in or you’re not,’ he says, voice unemotive.

‘You know I’m in,’ says Youngjo. His voice is unpleasantly soft. It’s always had that gentle timbre to it. Whenever Keonhee watches his movies, hidden away in secret in his bedroom after too many drinks, he always finds himself closing his eyes and just _listening_.

Keonhee sips the tea that Youngjo passes him. There was a time, probably after they’d made their first commercial together, that he would never have taken a drink from Youngjo lest it be poisoned. Their fates are entwined now, though, neither able to risk it without the other. ‘Thank you for doing this for me.’

‘For you? I’m doing this _with_ you, Keonhee,’ Youngjo rolls his eyes.

‘Why are you doing it? Marrying me? One date would have been enough to annoy your ex enough. Why would you commit to do all of this with me?’ It’s a question that has been nagging him since the moment Youngjo first agreed to it all, an anxiety that’s consumed the lower back part of his brain and left him with a tension headache that no aspirin will shift.

There’s a silence, and then Youngjo shrugs. ‘It’s mutually beneficial. You needed a favour. I’ll help out anyone who really needs it. And I know that if my family farm was being put in the hands of someone like that, I’d want someone to help me out too. Besides, we’ve known each other for a long time.’

‘Known each other?’ Keonhee scoffs. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’

‘What would you call it?’

‘Hating each other?’

Youngjo taps his mug and leans back against the counter. ‘You know, I could ask you why you would choose me of all people? That seems just as ridiculous.’

Keonhee bites his lip hard. ‘You were there. And you’re as detached from reality as I am. I needed someone willing to try something a little absurd.’

They stand together without speaking for a moment.

Youngjo broaches a subject first. ‘I bumped into Geonhak the other day. Do you remember Geonhak?’

 _Geonhak_. Keonhee’s head snaps up. Of course he remembers Geonhak. Geonhak was one of his closest friends during their time at college. They drifted apart like so many friends in their early twenties, but he still messages him sometimes, just to catch up on his life. Geonhak was the friend who he shared so much with at college, especially when he was dealing with his father, and with Youngjo. Always dealing with Youngjo. ‘Of course,’ he says, aware that Geonhak being around Youngjo is a very dangerous thing indeed. ‘How could I not?’

‘It all seems like such a long time ago, right?’

‘Obviously.’

‘Would you go back? If you could?’

‘To college?’ Keonhee sniffs. ‘No. I’ve done better things since then. Would you?’

Youngjo shrugs. ‘Perhaps. Maybe there are things I would go back and change.’

Keonhee decides, not for the first time, that he doesn’t like the way that Youngjo is looking at him. ‘You can’t change the past,’ he says. ‘No matter what you tell yourself.’

~

Dating, Youngjo finds, is easier than he expected. He hasn’t seen anyone long-term since separating from Daeho, and he supposes that he isn’t really _seeing someone_ now, but it feels real as anything. At this point he sees Keonhee more than his own family, and almost as much as he sees Hwanwoong. The longer that he’s spent with him, the more he’s found that Keonhee can be quite an alright person to spend time with. He’s funny, in a dry, sarcastic sort of way, and they share a lifestyle in common that very few can relate to.

The dating itself, though, is fun too. He finds himself visiting restaurants that he’s never been to before, just so that the two of them can be photographed there. He finds himself walking the streets of Seoul at night, arm in arm with Keonhee but eyes on the twinkling sky and the glowing moon, different out in the open air to when he watched it through his window. He finds himself looking at things in stores and thinking that they would be perfect to buy for Keonhee, or appear to buy for Keonhee.

Suddenly, all sorts of things that he sees remind him of his _boyfriend_.

He hasn’t felt like this since he was with Daeho.

It is only when they stay in the restaurant so late that the other patrons have left, that he realises these dates are running on longer than they need to. Their dinner today is in a small Chinese restaurant, awarded multiple international awards, buried in the centre of Seoul. It’s rumoured that the wait for a reservation is eighteen months, but Keonhee booked them the table with no trouble. The taster menu is eye-wateringly expensive, but after this much top class beer, Youngjo doesn’t even think about it.

Keonhee is flushed red, perhaps a little drunk too, and picks at his second dessert. There’s no one else left in the restaurant. In fact, Youngjo is sure that they are here past closing, but a member of the waiting staff serves them diligently nonetheless and nobody has asked them to leave.

‘I’d be lying if I said this isn’t the best date I’ve had in a long time,’ Youngjo laughs. It’s intended as a joke, but the smile that they both share is too genuine, and their eyes flicker down to their dishes in synchronised fashion. They move a lot like that now, motions in synch like they’ve trained themselves for the cameras a little too well. It’s become such a part of Youngjo’s day-to-day that it’s as ingrained into him as breathing. The greatest method-acting project that could possibly be undertaken. A military operation of the utmost secrecy would surely require less subterfuge.

Keonhee chews and looks up at the ceiling as if pondering in thought. ‘You know there’s no one left to impress?’

‘You’re still here.’

At that, Keonhee almost chokes on his dessert in a laugh. ‘When have you ever wanted to impress me?’

‘I don’t think I’ve ever impressed you. Even once. When we were at college you always left during my showcases. You always told me I wasn’t up to par. Every _time_ during peer reviews you criticised and - ’

Keonhee puts his glass down on the table slightly too loud, and it cuts Youngjo off. ‘I hated watching you.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I hated watching you because you were better than me.’

At that, Youngjo just shakes his head and laughs. ‘As if. You were top of the class.’

‘Not for acting.’

‘But you’re not an actor,’ he rolls his eyes. ‘For singing - ’

‘Didn’t matter.’

There’s no music in the quiet restaurant, and their words sound loud and echoing in the empty booth. A part of Youngjo hopes that Keonhee will stop, but the dam has been opened now.

‘You were so great. You came from nothing, and you made everything for yourself. And I came from everything, and I was achieving nothing. And I tried so hard and you never even _looked_ at me.’

‘Looked at you? Of course I looked at you! And how can you say you were achieving nothing? You were top of half our classes.’

Keonhee spikes part of his dessert and pushes it around his plate. ‘You never once told me that I did well.’

‘You had a fan club, Keonhee, including our teachers! What did you want me to do? Pat you on the back and say _well done_? You’d have laughed at me!’

‘Laughed at you? All I ever _wanted_ was a compliment from you!’

One might assume that the temperature at the table would turn cold, but in truth it remains quite steady. It’s not the first time that they’ve argued. Youngjo has an immunity of skin an inch thick about anything Lee Keonhee might say to him. He taps his spoon on the edge of the table, and searches for something to retort with, because what Keonhee is saying is so unfair. His version of events is so outrageous that Youngjo wants to both fight and cry at the same time. ‘Well you sure as hell didn’t make it seem that way.’

‘Read between the lines, hyung,’ Keonhee mutters, and Youngjo’s heart does a flip. It’s rare that Keonhee addresses him so informally.

‘What lines? You never showed me any lines!’

‘Oh please. There were plenty of lines.’

‘If you wanted me to kiss you so bad, you should have just said so,’ Youngjo snaps. Then he freezes, clenching his hand on his spoon as he tries to think what to do next. It’s not something that he would have said sober, but the words slip out and in a way he’s grateful. He’s not so sure how long he could’ve carried around the revelation from Geonhak without revealing it one way or another. ‘It’s not my _fault_. You can’t blame me forever.’ The additional words are a mild indicator that he’s chickening out, because suddenly Keonhee is looking at him with an expression of unfulfilled wrath.

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he says.

‘I think you do,’ mutters Youngjo. He pushes his plate away and tries to ignore the adrenaline that’s making his hands shake. ‘Why don’t we just stop pretending?’

‘Stop pretending? Everything about us is pretend! From our careers to our relationship. We’re performers, all we ever do is put on a show.’

Youngjo shakes his head with a derisive laugh. ‘Sounds like a great life.’

‘Yes, well, you’re right here with me. So don’t act all superior now, you know I can’t stand it.’

This feels more familiar to Youngjo than their moments of enjoyment had earlier in the dinner. Arguing with Keonhee is a comfort-zone, much less intimidating to him than the two of them being nice to each other. This is easy. The other is hard. Are they both cowards for giving up and reverting to type? _Perhaps_ , Youngjo thinks. He tries to ignore the fact and makes to stand. ‘I’ll get the cheque.’

‘No. I’ll pay.’ Keonhee stands up too, fire in his eyes.

This is the same petty argument that they have every time. Youngjo makes to push past him with a roll of his eyes, but Keonhee doesn’t budge, and their shoulders collide hard enough that Youngjo is almost pushed back. He remembers the last time that he thought Keonhee pushed him, and the mess of written and rewritten and rewritten memories spill to the forefront of his brain. Keonhee is stood rigid-backed as ever, a little taller than him, but Youngjo straightens up too and tilts his chin up in defiance.

He closes his fingers on the front of Keonhee’s jacket, and then pulls him down to kiss him. The moment of surprise means that Keonhee’s lips are still parted, and Youngjo takes advantage of that, pushes forward like this kiss means that he’s won against Keonhee once and for all. _He’s_ the one who finally dares to do it. He touches Keonhee’s cheek, fingertips a feather touch on his soft skin, nothing like the intensity of his lips, his tongue.

Keonhee knots a hand in Youngjo’s hair, so tight that it stings, and he thinks that he’ll pull him away, but instead he holds him there. Butterflies would not be enough to describe the tangled thread of sensation inside Youngjo’s abdomen, a mess that he’s not sure will ever be possible to unravel now. Heat rises red on his neck like flames licking the skin, ever more threatening, and then Keonhee pushes him away at last and he takes a step back.

Youngjo touches one finger up to his own lower lip as if it might be bleeding, and finds it swollen just from the contact. Keonhee is breathing hard, his own lips scarlet and his chest rising and falling like they’ve just fought after all.

‘There you go,’ says Youngjo, ‘now you don’t have to hate me anymore.’

For once – and across any of the last few years Youngjo would have recorded this moment for prosperity were he ever to witness it – Keonhee is lost for words.

There are no cameras here, no eyes watching them, just two men and a dimly lit restaurant with a burned-out candle glowing ember red on the table. Keonhee opens his mouth, and then closes it. As Youngjo watches, he adjusts the front of his jacket and pats down his hair.

Irritation rises in Youngjo’s bloodstream again. ‘Aren’t you going to say something?’

Keonhee straightens his cuffs and turns away. He walks out of the restaurant without a word. Youngjo stands still for a moment, heartbeat still at breaking point, before composing himself. It feels different to how it felt the night at the bonfire, being the one to watch Keonhee walk away.

~

‘I kissed him,’ says Youngjo, flat on his back on Hwanwoong’s couch.

Hwanwoong is texting Dongju, but to his credit he seems to recognise the serious tone in his voice and puts down his phone immediately, turning his eyes to him. ‘Not exactly news to me,’ he says, ‘I can’t open a magazine anymore without being confronted by a picture of you two doing to tongue tango. I’m going to need therapy after all of this, by the way.’

‘No, I mean I kissed him. _Kissed_ him.’

Hwanwoong’s phone buzzes three times, but he ignores it, eyes on Youngjo. ‘You’re saying - ’

‘I’m saying I kissed him.’

Hwanwoong switches seat, hurrying to the couch and pushing Youngjo’s legs out of the way so that he can hear this story at closer quarters. ‘When?’

‘Two nights ago,’ groans Youngjo. The memory of it is as clear in his mind as if it had been only five minutes. ‘When we went to that restaurant. He – I didn’t tell you, but when I met Geonhak the other day, he made a comment. About that night at the bonfire. You remember the bonfire right?’

‘How could I forget,’ Hwanwoong grins, ‘do you remember how I - ’ He stops, sobering his expression as if he’s just remembered the issue at hand. ‘Never mind. But yes, I remember. You disappeared with Keonhee and we all thought you’d gone to fight it out once and for all. You told me you walked away.’

‘I did. But Geonhak said that Keonhee thought… thought that I was going to kiss him that night. Like there was something between us. Was there something between us? I always just thought…’

Hwanwoong sighs. ‘The line between love and hate is very fine, hyung. I mean I for one always thought you liked _him_ , very, very deep down. But I never would have thought that _he_ liked _you_.’

‘You – you thought - ’ Youngjo splutters.

‘It’s been years and you still complain about him all the time. More than you talk about the people you claim to like. I’ve listened to what feels like a lifetime of _Keonhee-this, Keonhee-that_. You can’t blame me for starting to think that maybe you were protesting a little too much. And then you come to tell me you’re marrying the guy!’

Youngjo grimaces. ‘Well he definitely hates me now. I think I really screwed up. He hasn’t called since.’

‘Look at you,’ Hwanwoong smirks, ‘acting like a true boyfriend. _Oh, he doesn’t call_!’ he imitates, throwing his head back in faux despair, and Youngjo sits up to give him a shove. ‘What _are_ we going to do with you two? You sure know how to get yourselves into a mess.’

‘What do I do now?’

‘Well, if you’re so stressed that he hasn’t called you, then maybe it’s time to be a grown-up.’

‘How?’

‘You call _him_ ,’ says Hwanwoong flatly, like this is so obvious that it pains him to have to explain it aloud.

Youngjo gulps. ‘What if he doesn’t want to hear from me?’

‘Then he won’t pick up,’ he shrugs. ‘Now tell me, what was the kiss like? Since it’s the first _real_ kiss. Were there fireworks? Did your eyes turn to stars? Did the earth move beneath you like it’ll never feel stable ever again?’

‘Not really. He pulled my hair, my lip got bruised up, and for most of it, I felt pretty sick.’

‘Good,’ says Hwanwoong. ‘That’s how you know it’s real. None of that ridiculous romance novel bullshit.’

 _Real_.

Keonhee’s words ring around his ears. _‘Everything about us is pretend_!’

He thinks that what happened in the restaurant might just be the most honest thing that they’ve ever done.

~

They meet at Keonhee’s studio again, because there is no neutral ground safe enough to hold this conversation, and it’s at least less loaded than meeting at one of their homes. Keonhee is working when Youngjo arrives, and despite noticing him, he does not leave the booth for quite some time. He made it clear with his clipped, monosyllabic answers on the phone, that he is still angry. Youngjo doesn’t mind being made to wait, sliding down onto one of the couches without complaint.

After ten minutes, Keonhee finally leaves the booth and enters the room with a blank, unreadable expression on his face.

‘Hey,’ says Youngjo, with a weak smile.

Keonhee gets himself a drink from the water cooler and crosses to the other couch. He sits on the very edge of the cushion, like he wants to make a point that he won’t be settling in for a long conversation. ‘Good morning.’

Youngjo wonders whether he should apologise, but it’s hard to know what there is to apologise for. It’s not like Keonhee didn’t kiss him back. ‘We’re still good, right?’ he says instead. ‘I mean the arrangement is still on?’

‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

‘You’re not seriously going to pretend like the other night didn’t happen?’

Keonhee pauses, tongue prodding at the inside of his cheek, and then grits his teeth. ‘First of all, what you said wasn’t true. I didn’t _want_ you to kiss me that night. I thought you were going to kiss me. There’s a difference.’

‘If there’s a difference, then why did you hate me all these years?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself. You’re hardly enthralling enough for me to hold a grudge based on one little fumble in the woods.’

‘So you weren’t attracted to me?’ Youngjo prods.

‘No. Yes. I don’t know.’

The _yes_ lingers in the air. The Youngjo of the past would have been triumphant at getting such a confession out of Keonhee, but now he’s just more confused than ever. ‘It’s not complicated,’ Youngjo says softly, ‘did you have feelings for me or not?’

‘I’ve never been attracted to a man like that,’ sniffs Keonhee. ‘I supposed then that I was just confusing our rivalry for flirtation. It was a complicated time.’

‘You know it’s okay, right…?’ says Youngjo. He was not expecting Keonhee’s answers to go in this direction. ‘If you _are_ attracted to me? Or any other guy?’

‘Of course I know it’s okay,’ he snaps, ‘I’m not ignorant.’

‘I didn’t mean it like that, Keonhee. I just mean that it’s okay to just be attracted to one, and then no other guys at all, or a mix of people, or - ’

‘I know.’

When Youngjo looks across at Keonhee, he’s struck that for the first time in all of the years he’s known him, Keonhee looks small. Vulnerable. He tucks his feet up on the couch and bites at his lip persistently. Youngjo wants to brush a thumb across it, tell him to leave it alone. For the first time, he feels like he’s seeing Keonhee, not _Lee Keonhee_. The boy who lost his mother too young and was left with a father who never appreciated him, who excelled at college but still felt that nothing he did was ever enough, and who built a career that’s all but incompatible with saving his family business from falling into the worst possible hands.

Youngjo swallows. ‘Forget then. I get it, the past is confusing; sometimes I’m not sure that I remember what went on between us at college right either. What about now? Are you attracted to me now?’ 

‘I don’t know,’ Keonhee whispers.

‘Do you feel something, when I kiss you?’

‘How can I answer that? It’s like a play! It’s not real!’

‘Did you feel something when I kissed you in the restaurant?’

‘I don’t know.’

Youngjo tries to keep his voice steady; this is not the moment to become frustrated with Keonhee. He’ll have enough time for that when they’re married. ‘Well compare it. Did it feel different to the other people you’ve kissed? The same?’

‘I’ve never kissed anyone else but you.’ As he says it, Keonhee’s ears turn scarlet.

The words take a moment for Youngjo to compute, and his thoughts race back to their first kiss in the café. Was that… had that been Keonhee’s first kiss? Guilt washes over him. Keonhee deserved more than that. A first kiss oughtn’t be a performance art.

‘I’m a busy guy,’ Keonhee stammers, defending himself even though Youngjo has said nothing. ‘And you know I’m not that easy to be around! The appropriate situation has just never arisen before. It’s not a big deal.’

‘I didn’t know,’ says Youngjo, like he’s shielding himself from unspoken criticism too.

Heavy quiet sits in the air between them. 

After what can only have been a minute but feels like an hour, Keonhee speaks, and it sounds like he’s taken the minute to compose himself because his voice does not shake. ‘Are you? Attracted to me?’

‘Yes,’ he answers, without hesitation. He’s been thinking about it. In fact, since the night of that kiss, he’s thought of little else. He’s forced clarity into his mind through brute force. ‘I don’t think I was then, at college, but I am now.’ Honesty. He owes Keonhee honesty.

‘Why?’

Youngjo laughs. ‘You know how great you are, you don’t have to ask me.’

‘Say it anyway.’ At last, a small smile creeps onto Keonhee’s lips.

‘You’re annoying,’ sighs Youngjo, then adds quickly: ‘that’s not one of the reasons, by the way. Why am I attracted to you? You’re brilliant, you work hard at what you do and you’ve forged your own path in a pretty cut-throat industry. Your music is outstanding. You’re confident, you know how good you are and I like that. You stand up for yourself. And I’m sure you look in the mirror enough to know the rest.’

‘Teenage me would’ve loved to hear all that from you,’ sighs Keonhee. ‘But I suppose now will do.’

‘Don’t get too big-headed. You’re still annoying. But you’re getting a lot better. I don’t think I’ve seen you be rude to someone who didn’t deserve it for at _least_ a week.’

‘I haven’t been like that for a long time,’ says Keonhee quickly. ‘Not since college. There was a moment where I became like that again, after my father died and the stress was just too much, but I’ve apologised to all of my staff. I feel terrible. I know you didn’t see much of me between graduation and filming our first commercial, but I promise I changed. I’ve tried really hard.’

‘It shows,’ Youngjo says honestly. ‘I think that’s why I couldn’t be attracted to you then but I can now.’

‘I don’t just want to be some trust-fund asshole,’ says Keonhee. ‘That’s why I’ve done music. I’ve always wanted to prove that I’ll work hard. I’m more than just my family name.’

‘I know.’ A gentle tint finds its way into Youngjo’s tone. ‘But your family name is important too. Which is why we need to make sure the company stays in your hands. I’m still in if you’re still in.’

Keonhee nods and exhales shakily. ‘Yes. Of course I’m still in.’

Relief, for both of them, restores some levity into the room.

‘You know you still owe me a proposal, right?’ says Youngjo.

‘The ring is in my safe at home. Perhaps you could come round some time. I’d like to show you were I live. If we’re going to be married then that seems important.’

‘How about next weekend?’ suggests Youngjo. ‘It’s the most free spot in my schedule that I’ve had for a while.’

‘Okay,’ Keonhee smiles. He looks boyish when he smiles, less uptight and more charming. Youngjo thinks that it’s much easier to fall for that Keonhee than the one he carries around in public.

~

Youngjo has never seen a property quite like Keonhee’s in the flesh. It reminds Youngjo of a fortress, built especially for an ancient king or emperor, and has its own security at the gates. A sprawling fountain dominates the driveway. Keonhee’s car is parked close to the door, and Keonhee himself is waiting for him, dressed down in tan slacks and a loose white button-up, summer breeze drifting through his unstyled hair.

‘I’ve never seen you like this,’ says Youngjo, as Keonhee lets him inside.

‘Neither have most other people, you’re not special,’ answers Keonhee with a smile.

‘Ah! I object. The fact that I’m seeing you like this now would suggest that I’m very special. You’re letting me.’

‘Well you’ll have to get used to it if we’re going to be married.’

The house is cool in temperature, with the floor a smooth polished stone that Youngjo thinks he’ll undoubtedly slip on more than once. There is so much to look at that his eyes end up struggling to examine everything at once instead of one at a time, but his gaze is eventually drawn to the line of portraits on the wall alongside the sweeping staircase.

‘My family,’ remarks Keonhee.

‘Are your sisters home?’ asks Youngjo, tearing his eyes from the unsettling paintings. Their eyes seem to follow him.

‘They never are,’ says Keonhee. ‘My younger sister is away travelling and my older sister is at the office working.’

‘She’s part of the company too?’

Keonhee nods and smiles. He leads Youngjo through to a vast reception room as he speaks. ‘She’s much more involved than me. She cares a lot more than me, too. I think that my father ought to have just left the company to her instead. We all would have been happier and we could’ve avoided a lot of mess.’

‘The mess has worked out okay so far though, right?’ Youngjo’s fingers brush against Keonhee’s as they walk, and he wonders what would happen if he interlinked them. ‘I mean you’ve scored me out of it.’

Keonhee looks down at their hands. ‘Yes, I suppose in a way it has worked out quite well.’ It’s Keonhee, then, who nudges one finger over Youngjo’s hand until Youngjo obliges and lets him wind their fingers together. ‘No cameras here now,’ he says in a quiet voice, lifting their joined hands to settle on the back of a long, wooden couch with clawed feet and floral blue upholstery.

‘No cameras.’

‘This is the room where my parents used to host guests. It has not been used since my father died.’

‘Do you think you’ll keep the house like this?’ asks Youngjo. He doesn’t let go of Keonhee’s hand, but gestures around the room with the other, at the old-fashioned furnishings and strange portraiture.

‘No. I don’t want this place to become a museum of my parents' memory.’

Youngjo smiles and taps the back of the seat. ‘Well, if you want to replace this with a huge, squashy couch, and stick a plasma screen over there, I think the room could be quite something.’

‘No one has ever really thought about comfort in this place,’ sighs Keonhee. ‘Shall we go to my room instead? There’s a couch in there, and a TV. I thought that we could order food so I collected some menus.’

Youngjo cocks his head to the side curiously. ‘Is this your version of trying to impress me? Do you think I’ll laugh when you admit that you have your own chef?’

‘No!’ Keonhee’s cheeks turn pink. ‘I just thought it would be fun!’

‘Sure,’ Youngjo unlaces their fingers and wraps an arm around Keonhee’s back instead to reassure him that he’s only teasing. ‘I believe you.’

Youngjo’s apartment is large, but he thinks that almost all of it could fit into the footprint of Keonhee’s bedroom. _Bedroom_ is not even the right word of it. It’s like a suite, somewhere where a person could live their entire life without ever interacting with the other members of the household. Youngjo supposes that in some cases, that could be a blessing.

His eyes travel to the grand bed, hung with a blue canopy, and he wonders what Keonhee looks like when he’s sleeping? Does he sleep well? Or does he toss and turn? What does he wear to sleep in? Silk pyjamas? When he wakes up in the night does he switch on a lamp? Or scroll through his phone in darkness like Youngjo does, that rectangle of light the only window into the outside world? He’s not sure why he’s so curious, but suddenly it’s all he can think about.

Keonhee orders them pizza, giving long and complicated instructions down the phone on how the driver must navigate the security of the house. As he talks, Youngjo walks around the room. He finds Keonhee’s college diploma, in a gilt frame close to his bed, and several of his music awards on a set of glass shelves. Other than that, though, Keonhee does not seem to possess many _things_. Everything in the room is either a record of one of his achievements, or something functional.

On his desk sits the sapphire that Keonhee had shown him at the bar. That night feels like a lifetime ago now.

‘Okay, all done,’ smiles Keonhee when he hangs up the phone and turns back to him. ‘What are you looking at?’ he adds nervously when he sees the way Youngjo is staring around.

‘Nothing,’ says Youngjo. He looks back at Keonhee and wonders at what point he can call him his boyfriend in his own mind, rather than just for the cameras. Does this mean they’re in a real relationship, now? _No, it’s too soon_ , he thinks. _But not too soon to get married_ , he reminds himself, and it almost makes him laugh.

Keonhee bites his lip again and steps closer to him. ‘You know you asked me if I felt anything?’

‘Huh?’

‘When we kissed. You asked me if I felt anything when we kissed.’

‘Oh yes, I did ask that,’ Youngjo laughs.

‘Can we try it again?’

The words crash around Youngjo’s ears. _Keonhee. Keonhee is asking him to kiss him_. This alternate reality that has become his normal is still too much for him to get a grasp on. He’s barely got a grip on his own feelings, let alone what is happening around him. What Keonhee is doing. ‘T-try it again?’ he stumbles over the words, having none of the liquid courage in his veins that he relied on that night at the restaurant.

Keonhee steps so close to him that the space between them ceases to become Youngjo’s and Keonhee’s, and instead becomes _theirs_. Their breath mingles together, and Youngjo looks into Keonhee’s eyes. The irises are dark, sparkling under the complex light fittings, less tired looking than Youngjo remembers them being when they first set out on this path together. He’s so attractive that it can never have been hard for the label to promote him.

This time, it’s Keonhee who kisses him. It’s more gentle than the previous kiss, almost experimental, and Keonhee runs his hand from Youngjo’s cheek down his jaw and to settle on his chest like he longs to feel the beat of his heart. It’s a soft kiss, a romantic one and that makes everything worse and so much better. Keonhee tastes like spearmint toothpaste, and his neck smells like jasmine. Youngjo breathes in as Keonhee parts his lips slightly and swipes his tongue across Youngjo’s lower lip. No one has kissed him like this for a very long time.

Keonhee doesn’t pull away, but instead breaks the kiss only to look down, and then he rests his forehead down against Youngjo’s shoulder. ‘You’ve got me all messed up, Kim Youngjo,’ he whispers.

‘Do you like it?’ asks Youngjo, and his voice sounds quite different to usual.

Keonhee keeps his hands against Youngjo’s chest, but he closes them just a little on his shirt. ‘I like you.’

‘Say it again,’ says Youngjo. His breath catches in his throat, and suddenly he’s so aware that they’re alone here, in Keonhee’s bedroom. Their intertwined fates have brought them here, as if they were supposed to end up this way all those years ago but Youngjo screwed it up. Now it’s his job to make up for lost time, for his sake and for Keonhee’s. He runs his thumb over Keonhee’s prominent cheekbone, tracing the sharp lines of his face, and leans closer to him. ‘Tell me how it felt when I kissed you.’

Keonhee holds his gaze, and then tightens his grip on the front of Youngjo’s shirt. He pulls him forward to kiss him again, and this time it is him who owns the kiss, owns Youngjo just for a moment. His teeth graze Youngjo’s lower lip, and Youngjo wishes there was a way to communicate that it would be okay for him to bite it, to pull him harder by the shirt collar, to lick into his mouth like it belongs to him.

‘It felt like that,’ whispers Keonhee, as he drags his lips instead down his jaw, and to his throat. Youngjo rolls his head back, knowing that there must be a sheen of sweat on his neck by now. The room isn’t hot and yet somehow he feels like his skin is burning. The desire to shed his shirt just from the heat is overwhelming, but all of a sudden his hands don’t seem capable of anything but touching Keonhee, trying to find purchase on his clothes, mapping the lines of his body.

If something shifted in the atmosphere of the room, then Youngjo does not remember the moment that it happened. But he’s so aware of it now. It’s as if every moment that they’ve spent hating each other has manifested in the room as a different kind of tension, one that Youngjo is sure he could catch in his hand if he felt around in the air. It’s so palpable that he can taste it.

‘Show me,’ breathes Youngjo, ‘show me how it felt.’

Keonhee rips open the neck of Youngjo’s shirt with one fluid motion and rests his palm down on the bare skin of his chest, over where Youngjo’s heart is thudding at lightning pace.

‘Destructive,’ Youngjo smiles.

With one eyebrow slightly raised, Keonhee lowers his hands and tears open the rest of the buttons. In this moment, Youngjo is grateful that he goes to the gym, because Keonhee is consuming him with his eyes, leaving no curve unanalysed. He licks his lips, and then finally drags his eyes back to Youngjo’s face with a smirk. ‘So you really do look the way that you do on the billboards?’ As he runs a hand down Youngjo’s chiselled abdomen, Youngjo shivers, and it makes his laugh shakier than usual.

‘What, did you think they drew them on?’

Keonhee ignores that and pushes the shirt back off Youngjo’s shoulders, squeezing the muscle there too. ‘You asked me if I’m attracted to you,’ he says. ‘Yes. Yes I am.’

‘Good,’ Youngjo smiles, ‘because all this would really suck if you weren’t.’

He feels exposed, shirtless like this under Keonhee’s gaze, more than he ever did when millions of people saw him in movies or on advertisements. Keonhee’s appraisals are more important than those of the rest of the world put together. He reaches out to fumble loose some of the buttons of Keonhee’s shirt too, and Keonhee does not protest. There’s a red fire in his eyes, nothing like the cool sharp edge of a blue sapphire that Youngjo usually imagines when the light glances off his dark irises.

‘Can I touch you?’ Youngjo asks, and his voice sounds like it belongs to someone else. He’s so nervous that he stumbles over simple syllables.

‘Yes,’ Keonhee whispers back, and he kisses Youngjo again as if he’s catching up on years of kisses that should’ve been his.

Youngjo takes his fingers down from Keonhee’s open shirt and palms over his crotch. Keonhee’s semi-hard already. The thought sends a wave of interest through Youngjo’s navel. He gets to touch Keonhee like this. _Lee Keonhee_. As he presses the ball of his hand over him, Keonhee lets out a low moan, and Youngjo closes his eyes for a second to commit that sound to memory. ‘I never thought you’d ache for me,’ Youngjo murmurs, breath hot over Keonhee’s throat.

‘I never thought I’d see you on your knees for me,’ says Keonhee back, and at that Youngjo pauses and can’t help the smirk that finds its way onto his lips. ‘But here we are.’

‘Fighting talk from a man who waited all these years just so that I could be his first kiss,’ he says, and Keonhee tilts his chin up.

‘So you’re saying you won’t?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ Youngjo swallows, regretting that the words come out just a little too quickly. Keonhee’s tone has gone straight to his cock and it’s as exciting as it is embarrassing.

He slides down too fast too, knees hitting the marble floor with a thud, and he’s sure that they’ll bruise if he’s down here too long but the thought of that just triggers another twitch of interest. A red flush spreads across his chest as he looks up at Keonhee, and he’s struck by how tall he is. He sits back on his heels, lips parting as his breath starts to come out hotter and heavier.

‘You look good like this,’ says Keonhee, and he pushes a rough hand through Youngjo’s hair.

Youngjo’s cock is so hard that his jeans feel like a cage. He wonders how Keonhee can speak with such confidence, such command, when he’s never even done this before. Under his steely gaze, Youngjo feels like the inexperienced one. But then he can’t remember ever seeing Keonhee be anything less than perfect at anything he tried. He unhooks the button of Keonhee’s pants and slides down the zipper as slowly as he can muster. He can’t lie to his own body, though, and his body is impatient.

Keonhee’s fingers are still laced in his hair, and as Youngjo runs his hands over his sharp hips, across to pull down his briefs and graze a deft touch over his cock, his grip tightens. Youngjo is forced to look up at him again, and he licks his lips with a lazy tongue so the saliva shimmers on his lower lip. Perhaps that look is too much for Keonhee, because he pushes his head down by his grip on his hair and Youngjo lets out a soft laugh against his thigh.

He wraps his fingers around Keonhee’s cock, forming a ring at the base as he watches the way he turns more red with need. His cock is bigger than Youngjo’s, and he finds himself swallowing again as nervous excitement bubbles up inside him. When Keonhee moans something that’s probably a demand to hurry up, Youngjo leans forward and licks an experimental stripe up the underside of his length. Keonhee curses and rolls his head back.

A smile plays on Youngjo’s lips. If _that’s_ too much for him…

He takes his cock into his mouth, tongue flat and lips stretched wide. The salty taste of precome hits the back of his tongue and sparks of arousal fire through his navel at the realisation that he gets to taste Keonhee like this. He sucks at the tip, tongue playing over his cockhead until Keonhee hisses, and he smiles as he slides down and takes the full length of him instead. He gags a little, saliva bubbling from the corners of his mouth, but he keeps his movements slow and languid.

‘Fuck,’ moans Keonhee, and Youngjo thinks that he likes hearing him curse.

He bobs his head, fingers still gripped at the base of Keonhee’s cock, but they meet his own lips as he takes the length deep enough that the tip bumps against the back of his throat. He gags again and pulls back, spit trailing from his tongue. Part of the back of his brain is aware of the ache in his knees, but he’s not concentrating enough to adjust his position.

His eyes travel back up Keonhee’s body, and he jerks him twice with irregular motions, eliciting another moan. He considers making him come just like this, but then Keonhee is using his grip on his hair to tug him back and he sits back, breath coming out in pants already. A mess of filth drips from his lower lip, but he lets it sit there, just so that Keonhee has to look at it.

‘Get up,’ says Keonhee.

‘Why? Aren’t you enjoying this?’ Youngjo goads.

‘I don’t want to come without fucking you,’ mutters Keonhee.

‘I never knew you had such a dirty mouth!’ he laughs, but he stands up, legs shaking, knees aching. Nothing hurts more than his arousal, though, pressed against his zipper with no release. Unable to stand it any longer, he lowers his hand and undoes the button, ready to stumble his way out of skinny jeans – never an attractive motion. He hops to Keonhee’s bed, kicking his way free one leg at a time before falling back onto the mattress, just as Keonhee leans over him and catches him in another kiss.

He lets out a groan as Keonhee’s knee presses between his legs and nudges his crotch. Keonhee runs his hand down Youngjo’s side, before squeezing his thigh. Youngjo can’t be sure whether Keonhee’s the one who pushes his legs apart or whether he spreads them himself, because between the heat and the rapid breath and the tension caught up in the space between them, his thoughts are hazy.

‘You need to get lube,’ he says, trying to maintain some clarity.

Keonhee pauses, then says, very close against Youngjo’s skin. ‘Well I don’t have any.’

‘What? What the hell kind of bachelor are you?’ Youngjo groans.

‘One who doesn’t exactly do _this_ very often,’ snaps Keonhee. ‘You didn’t bring any with you?’

Youngjo scoffs. ‘No, sorry Keonhee, I didn’t think you’d invited me round just to jump my bones!’

‘Dammit,’ he stays leant over Youngjo, arms framing him in, but Youngjo sighs and unravels himself. As he goes, he pushes Keonhee off him onto the bed and half-limps to the adjoining bathroom. Suddenly, he’s glad that he analysed the room in full as soon as he was invited in. Keonhee’s bathroom is vast, bigger than Youngjo’s living room, and the cupboards are crammed with very, very expensive skincare products.

Youngjo’s body protests at the interruption, and he tries to focus, calming the pounding of his heart. He knocks over bottles in his haste, cursing the fact that everything Keonhee owns seems to have one hundred rare and valuable ingredients. After a minute, he darts back into the room, and throws the gold bottle down on Keonhee’s stomach where he’s lain back on the bed. ‘Thank me later,’ he mutters.

‘Thank you? This is very expensive!’ snaps Keonhee.

‘I’ll buy you a replacement,’ Youngjo groans, worried that if Keonhee acts any more… _Keonhee_ … it’s going to ruin his arousal. ‘Besides, my ass deserves the best.’

Keonhee pulls a face, but doesn’t protest any further. He pops open the bottle and squeezes out some of the gel-like oil onto his fingers. For a second, he just rubs his fingers together, and Youngjo thinks how ready he is to have those long, delicate fingers inside him. His mouth, so wet a minute ago, suddenly feels very dry.

‘Nervous?’ he asks. ‘I mean you don’t know what you’re doing, so - ’

‘Not at all,’ Keonhee says, flipping Youngjo onto his back and spreading his legs slowly. Youngjo’s cock curves up against his stomach, leaking already, and he exhales, closing his eyes to give into sensation. And sensation Keonhee gives him, a slick finger stroking around his rim with tantalising lag. Automatically, Youngjo’s body flinches in response, but after a second he settles back down. ‘Tell me if it’s okay,’ says Keonhee, and it might be the first soft thing that he’s ever said to him.

‘You’re good,’ pants Youngjo as Keonhee presses his finger inside him. This part, Youngjo thinks, is always the hardest part. He reminds himself to keep his body relaxed, but it has been a while. He breathes out slowly, concentrating on taking a breath whenever Keonhee pushes deeper, and as his second finger rubs across his entrance. ‘You’re good,’ his back arches as Keonhee works at a third finger. ‘Fuck…’

Keonhee kisses his neck, then nips at the skin and Youngjo’s cock stutters against his navel.

Within minutes, Keonhee is withdrawing his fingers almost all of the way and then fucking them back into him at a punishing pace. Youngjo gasps, sweat glistening on his chest, and lets out a sound akin to a whimper when Keonhee twists his fingers a little. He’s in danger of coming untouched just like this, and he searches for words but his mind doesn’t appear to have words left, just sounds. Embarrassing sounds.

‘Keonhee, _Keonhee_ ,’ he moans. ‘You need to stop. If you – if you make me come like this then there’s no _way_ you’re going to get to fuck me.’

Keonhee slows, like _that_ threat has woken him up, and withdraws his fingers. ‘You still want to go all the way?’

‘Go all the way…’ Youngjo rolls his eyes at the expression. ‘Yes. Yes.’

For a moment, Keonhee falters, and Youngjo meets his eyes. ‘This is real, right?’ whispers Keonhee, and finally there is vulnerability in his voice.

Youngjo wants to laugh, unable to believe that Keonhee could get this far and still worry that it might be a part of their charade, but he keeps his face sober. He props himself up on his elbows and presses a soft kiss to Keonhee’s lips. ‘Real. Real as anything, Keonhee.’

Reassured, Keonhee nods. He lubes up, more than he needs too, Youngjo thinks, especially when this vitamin oil is _very_ expensive after all, but he doesn’t complain. He turns onto his front, grabs one of Keonhee’s pillows to balance on and buries his face into the crook of his elbow. Keonhee’s hands hold his hips, shifting him back a little, and Youngjo moans when he starts to stroke his cock in slow circles just over his hole. It’s teasing and nervous all in the same measure and Youngjo is glad that he’s facing this way because he thinks one look at Keonhee in this moment would have him spilling over the sheets.

He moans into his arm when Keonhee sheaths inside him, not taking it slow. A wince runs down Youngjo’s spine but it’s the best kind of sting. For a second, Keonhee just rocks there, and then he pulls back and thrusts into him with more force. Youngjo lets out a sound that he can’t put a name on, biting down on his skin. He thinks that Keonhee fucks him like he still hates him, and that’s such an intoxicating thought that it goes straight to his head. It’s a relationship only the two of them could share, a dynamic built on complex foundations that they’ve assembled over many years.

‘Harder,’ he moans out, and Keonhee for once in his life listens to him.

Youngjo wraps a hand around his own cock, because he knows Keonhee won’t last long and he wants to come with him inside him. His fingers turn slippery with the precome, and he can jerk himself off easily, messily, face pressed down against the silk sheets. Keonhee’s cock prods against his prostate, and the nerves spark. It’s lucky that Keonhee is still holding him up by his hips, because Youngjo’s body feels limp. He barely has the energy to speak when he comes, stumbling over the syllables of Keonhee’s name as he comes on the sheets, muscles clenching and unclenching to the rhythm of Keonhee’s moaning above him.

It’s that, maybe, that pushes Keonhee off his precipice, and he spills inside him with a grunt, a voice lower than usual as it chokes out ‘Youngjo – Youngjo- _hyung_!’

Youngjo collapses without the support of Keonhee’s grip, panting into the mattress and trying to angle his hips to avoid the drag of his over-sensitive cock on the material. Keonhee slides out of him, turning him onto his side with weak, shaky hands, and the room is suddenly very quiet, except for their desperate breathing. What has been done now between them cannot be undone.

Youngjo swallows and shifts his position, closing his eyes to try to centre himself. His life feels like it’s been bundled up into a chaotic mess, his perfectly cultivated image in his own mind and his relaxed lifestyle left in ruins by the one act of falling for Lee Keonhee.

‘ _You’ve got me all messed up, Kim Youngjo_ ,’ Keonhee had said to him before.

But Youngjo thinks that Keonhee has got him all messed up too.

Where they lay, Keonhee wraps an arm over Youngjo’s waist and pulls him back against him. Youngjo does not protest, because being held by Keonhee is a reality he’ll lean into like he’s always belonged there.

‘Pretty sure our pizzas probably arrived,’ he mumbles after a minute or two or three minutes of silence.

‘Fancy doing the walk of shame?’ asks Keonhee.

Youngjo swallows. He does feel hungry. The last time he ate is a distant memory already. ‘You ripped my shirt. And I’m the one sticky with mess. Fuck, I let you put your dick in me. _You_ can go.’

For once, Keonhee does not argue with him.

~

It is very rare for Youngjo to keep something from his best friend, but he does not tell Hwanwoong about what happened during his weekend at what he’s affectionately nicknamed _Keonhee-Manor._ At the very least, he knows that Hwanwoong would not want to hear about it, so he keeps the memory locked up inside his chest and somewhere lower inside his stomach and tries to keep his head in the game.

Maybe it’s lucky, now, that he has Keonhee, because he’s never felt more like a third-wheel than he does right now. Hwanwoong and Dongju are cross-legged on the floor, playing a video-game on the television, and Youngjo is supposed to be being picked up by his own boyfriend but Keonhee is running late. He sighs, and tries to concentrate on the script that he’s reading through, but it’s hard to focus when every few seconds one of the two giggles, or they push each other, or whisper an in-joke that makes the other collapse back in laughter.

Youngjo thinks that their love is so very different from the way he relates to Keonhee; he wonders whether one day they’ll mess around like that too. Not that Hwanwoong will admit to falling in love – quite the opposite – but Youngjo knows his friend and he knows the sparkle in his eye and radiant smile on his face are nothing like he’s seen from him before.

There’s a knock on the door, and Youngjo jumps up in relief. He never would have thought that he’d be relieved to see Lee Keonhee, but such is his life now. He skips to the door with a beaming smile. Hwanwoong and Dongju don’t even look up from the TV. ‘Morning,’ he grins, and then he forces a more sober expression onto his face because it’s still embarrassing to wear a dopey smile like that in front of his boyfriend. Old habits die hard and Youngjo isn’t sure he ever wants Keonhee to think that he’s _that_ happy to see him.

Keonhee pauses for a second, and Youngjo is sure he’s considering whether to kiss him or not, but then he just ducks inside the apartment with a curt, ‘ _morning_ ’ in return. He’s dressed for work, and not the work he enjoys, in a silver-grey suit and freshly shined shoes.

‘You took your time getting here,’ says Youngjo, ‘I’ve had to watch the lovebirds for nearly an hour!’

Keonhee glances over towards the TV and grimaces. ‘Promise me we’ll never get like that.’

‘Never,’ smiles Youngjo.

Their date today is arranged at a quiet restaurant that Keonhee owns, down in the basement of a very fancy hotel. The restaurant serves traditional food but the furnishings are quite modern. Youngjo’s stayed in the hotel once or twice, but he finds that hotels all start to blur into one after a while. It’s only when they settle down and he realises that no one else is here except for the two of them, that he starts to shift.

‘Do you buy up this sort of place often?’ he asks.

‘Not anymore,’ sighs Keonhee. ‘But my father was something of a collector.’

‘Well I’m guessing the food is either very bad, or you booked the whole place out,’ laughs Youngjo with a glance around the empty room.

‘We can talk properly that way,’ says Keonhee. He takes a deep breath and then reaches into his pocket and places down the now familiar ring box on the table. ‘I think you should start wearing this.’

‘Has there ever been a more romantic proposal?’ he laughs again, but he takes the box and flicks it open. Even if the ring is not really being bequeathed to him in the traditional sense, it still makes his tummy feel funny to think that Keonhee is loaning him something so precious. He runs his thumb over the large sapphire, a bright cornflower blue, and imagines how it will look on his finger.

Keonhee clears his throat. ‘I had it sized. Please take care of it. It’s irreplaceable.’

‘I’ll guard it with my life, Keonhee,’ he says softly. Then, with a small smile he adds, ‘I think you’re supposed to do this bit.’

For a moment, Keonhee meets his eyes and holds his gaze, like he’s considering whether to indulge him. Then he sighs and takes the ring from the box, one hand lifting Youngjo’s carefully from the table. Keonhee’s fingers are cool and steady as they slide the ring onto Youngjo’s finger; it catches a little at the joint, and nestles perfectly just above his knuckle. The band is thin and delicate.

Before letting him go, Keonhee brushes his thumb over his knuckles, a deft, romantic touch.

‘We’ve done everything the wrong way round,’ says Youngjo. ‘How many people set the date for their wedding before they even kiss the first time?’

‘It is all somewhat complicated,’ sighs Keonhee.

Youngjo remembers their reasons for doing this. He remembers how they said that the arrangement was perfect, because there was no chance of one of them developing feelings for the other – no chance of things ending up messy. _Purely business_. Now there’s a heavy rock on his ring finger and Youngjo’s heart is fluttering at the thought that Keonhee put it there and complicated is the only word for it.

‘Keonhee…’ he starts, because he has to ask. ‘This thing between us, and I’m not talking about the arrangement, this – this _thing_. Are you in? Because I just need to know. It’s not – it’s not a big deal but I just need to know either way. So I know where I stand.’ He wishes that he didn’t start stumbling over the words, because it makes it sound like it _is_ a big deal, but he can’t help it. No amount of acting has prepared him for this.

The pause before Keonhee’s answer drags into eternity and Youngjo’s stomach bubbles with anxiety. Then, though, Keonhee looks down at the table, at the glinting blue ring, and he says, ‘I’m in.’

Youngjo exhales shakily, the relief evident. ‘Good, because I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d said no.’

‘You’re all I think about now,’ says Keonhee. He looks away as he says it, like he can’t bear saying something like this while looking into Youngjo’s eyes. ‘It’s not a choice anymore. I think I was in long before I ever realised it.’

That, Youngjo can relate to. There’s no way to pinpoint the moment that everything changed. As if it was always that way in the first place and the two of them were just too stupid to realise it.

~

Sitting behind his father’s desk is the most uncomfortable position that Keonhee has ever found himself in. The stack of urgent documents requiring his attention is overflowing, and he has a meeting list as long as his arm to deal with today. Everything that can be delegated, he leaves to his sister – she knows so much more about all of this than he does _anyway_ – but there are certain people who will only speak to the CEO. He tries, now, to cram everything into one or two days of the week, affording him the others to concentrate on his real career, but he’s already had to delay the release of his album by three months.

Everyone around him tells him that it’s impossible to do both. He knows it’s probably true. Delaying the inevitable is preferable, though, to accepting defeat.

He leans forward and rests his forehead down on his crossed arms. His eyes track a fine line in the grain of the mahogany, and he wonders how it would feel to sink into the surface and live there, between the network of tiny lines. Living in two dimensions sounds a lot easier than living in the one he occupies now. His phone buzzes in his pocket, and he automatically thinks that he hopes it is Youngjo.

Youngjo texts him a lot now.

And Keonhee has started texting him first too.

He’s about to drag his head from the desk and check his messages when the door opens.

Keonhee’s head snaps up so quickly that something pulls in his neck. There’s no way that anyone in the building would enter this office without knocking, except –

He curses under his breath when he sees his uncle saunter into the room. ‘What do you want?’ he snaps, as Manyoung slams the office door behind him. Keonhee stands up in reflex, like he’s ready to jump onto the defensive if his uncle decides to take him out by sheer force after all.

There’s a moment in which Manyoung looks too angry to speak. His face is red, one hand raised ready to jab Keonhee in the chest. The desk remains a barrier between them, and Keonhee stands up straight to maintain an advantage in height, but he still takes one automatic step back. Finally, Manyoung seems to find his grasp on language again. ‘You – _you_ -’

‘I what?’ says Keonhee, keeping his distance.

‘I never thought you’d really go through with it,’ he grits out. ‘I figured you wouldn’t have the guts! But this - ’

‘This what? Spell it out for me.’

‘You gave him her _ring_? Is there _nothing_ you wouldn’t do?’

‘Oh,’ Keonhee says as if he’s finally realised the topic of the conversation, ‘you’re talking about my partner? Yes, yes I did. It’s called a proposal, uncle, I’m sure you must have heard of it.’

Manyoung seethes. ‘Staging a marriage is one thing. Giving my sister’s ring to some man - ’

‘Sister-in-law,’ Keonhee corrects, and he starts to feel anger creep up his own body too, beginning in his stomach and crawling up his chest. ‘And she hated you.’

‘How would you know?’ he sneers. ‘You hardly even knew her!’

Keonhee doesn’t let the punch in his gut show on his face. He doesn’t let it consume him, the thought that this man got to know his mother for so much longer than him, that he got to spend time with her that he never deserved when Keonhee did not. He exhales slowly, grounding himself. ‘People talk, Manyoung. I’m sure you’ve heard them.’

‘People talk about you, too. They’ll talk about this forever! Everyone will know you married a man just to get your claws back in this company. Selling yourself for money? Do you have no shame?’

Keonhee laughs. He wants to tell him that he has no proof, gloat that this is his victory now, but he keeps quiet. He would not consider it beyond Manyoung’s moral bankruptcy to record their conversation. ‘I’m marrying for love, uncle,’ he says innocently. ‘Thank you for taking care of the company affairs for these few months, but your guardianship is no longer required.’

Manyoung stalks around the desk and grabs Keonhee by the collar, dragging him down until their faces are an inch apart. Keonhee fights his instincts to react and instead raises both of his hands, palms open. He’s ready to take a punch if he has to. ‘You’ll regret this,’ says Manyoung, spit flying from his mouth. Keonhee is sure that he’s a second away from hitting him when there’s a knock on the door, and he drops his grip on his shirt in a second, whirling around.

‘Come in,’ says Keonhee, exhaling heavily and straightening his tie.

‘Keonhee, I just brought you these,’ Seoho walks into the room and then looks up in surprise. ‘Oh – father – ’

‘Uncle was just congratulating me on my engagement,’ smiles Keonhee, as Seoho looks from one to the other with a nervous expression. ‘Do you want to come out tonight, Seoho? To celebrate? It would be nice for you to meet Youngjo before the wedding.’

Seoho beams. ‘Of course! I’d love that!’

Keonhee looks back to Manyoung and at last allows a flame of triumph to show in his eyes. He’s always liked winning, whether it was beating Kim Youngjo to the lead role back at college, or standing up to collect the biggest trophy of the night at the awards shows he attends. This time, winning tastes especially sweet.

~

‘Sleeping together like this before we’re even married? Isn’t that the kind of thing you find improper?’ says Youngjo, tracing a finger across Keonhee’s bare chest. A smile plays on his lips, and he remembers at some point making a pledge to himself never to smile so serenely in front of Keonhee, but that memory seems hard to get a grasp on now. He rests his cheek back down on Keonhee’s chest and curls up against him. He likes being close to him, likes being able to feel his heart beat.

‘Well we’ve done everything backwards,’ sighs Keonhee. He runs his fingers through Youngjo’s hair and massages the side of his head that isn’t pressed against his skin. ‘Which reminds me, we need to talk wedding plans.’

‘Mm,’ Youngjo hums against him. He shifts slightly because his body aches from the last half an hour, but at least the combination of Keonhee’s body and the bed are comfortable. His mattress is definitely more comfortable than Keonhee’s, and he thinks that if he’s going to be moving in with him, then they need to have a long, hard conversation about the future of Keonhee’s bed. The silk sheets annoy him, too slippery, and there aren’t enough pillows.

He prefers it when they sleep together here in his apartment.

Keonhee taps his fingertips in a line down Youngjo’s spine, massaging another point in the curve of his lower back. ‘Personally, I would be happy to bar the press from attending altogether, but I understand if you would want them there.’

‘Why would I want them there?’ he lifts his head.

‘To annoy Daeho,’ says Keonhee in a tone of surprise, like this is obvious. ‘I thought you’d want the wedding to be as loud as possible?’

Youngjo settles his cheek back down. ‘Oh. I’d forgotten.’ It’s true. He can’t remember the last time he thought about Daeho. If someone had asked why he started this arrangement in the first place, he’d have struggled to remember. ‘No, I don’t want the press there. Any of them. And you don’t – you don’t have to worry about Daeho,’ he adds, ‘I’d forgotten he even existed.’ For some reason, he doesn’t like the thought of Keonhee having his thoughts preoccupied with his ex.

It might be his imagination, but he thinks that he feels Keonhee’s arms relax a little.

‘Any thoughts as to a best man?’ asks Youngjo.

‘A few,’ Keonhee shrugs, and Youngjo’s body moves with his, ‘I thought about Seoho, since the two of you got along very well. But then I thought that perhaps I could just ask my sisters to be my best-women.’

‘I think that would be nice,’ smiles Youngjo. So far he’s only met the older of Keonhee’s two sisters. The younger, Keonhee informs him, is currently living in Bolivia, but promises that she’ll be back in time for the wedding. ‘Can we talk about the cake? I think the cake is _very_ important.’

‘Preferences?’

‘I like cheesecake,’ Youngjo grins.

‘ _Absolutely_ not!’

‘I’ll put that down as… undecided, then,’ he ignores the protest in Keonhee’s voice. They fall silent for a second, and then Youngjo pipes up a request he’s been wanting to make for a while. ‘Will you sing? At the reception? Something for me?’

‘Kim Youngjo asking me to sing him a love song at our wedding,’ sighs Keonhee, ‘if you’d told me a year ago that this would be my reality, I’d have laughed you into the next decade.’

‘Is that a yes?’

‘Of course I’ll sing you something.’

Youngjo looks up and rests his chin on Keonhee’s chest with wide eyes. ‘Will you sing me something _now_?’

‘What do you want me to sing?’

Youngjo grins. That wasn’t a _no_. ‘Anything. I’ve always liked your music. Even when I didn’t like you so much.’

‘I understand,’ says Keonhee. ‘I streamed every single one of your movies. I’d never have been seen dead at the theatre, of course, but I watched them all later. I had to drink a lot of wine first, but I managed it.’

Youngjo smiles. Keonhee has never told him this before.

After a moment, Keonhee starts to sing, and Youngjo closes his eyes. His voice is soft, soothing, loaded with breath. In person, though, it sounds different to on the radio. There are little cracks and nuances that make it far more addictive, like Youngjo has to hang onto every syllable to search out the meaning in the depths of his voice. He thinks it’ll be easy to sleep like this. He’s already starting to find it harder to sleep in Keonhee’s absence, the space beside him on the bed becoming a void instead of a spot to spread out in.

He wraps his leg over Keonhee’s and nestles his head into the crook of his neck. Torn between wanting to sleep and wanting to listen, he tries to concentrate on Keonhee’s voice, but he feels himself starting to drift. He wonders what inspired Keonhee to write these love songs when he had no one to love, and then his mind travels to what Keonhee’s new songs might sound like now, now that he has someone of his own. Youngjo falls asleep lost in thoughts of being Keonhee’s _someone_.

~

When the day arrives, the world has its eyes on the Shilla Hotel, reporters crowding the street but pinned back by barriers, and fans crammed onto the sidewalks in the hopes of catching a glimpse of one of the two grooms. An outsider might think this to be the site of a royal wedding, such is the crowd. But there will be no grand procession, no horse-drawn carriages and perfect photo opportunities, and no dignitaries seated in hundreds of rows.

The wedding is small, invitations reserved for their closest friends, and Keonhee and Youngjo arrive half an hour apart in the morning, dressed down, masks covering their faces as they slip inside the hotel. Nonetheless, the crowds scream, all of them enraptured by the love story that has caught the attention of the nation. No one has questioned a second of it.

The room afforded to Youngjo for him to get ready in is small but of the utmost class, a bottle of champagne on ice waiting and a complimentary hamper from the hotel filled with chocolate and artisan foods and roses. ‘It’s a bit early for me to start,’ he laughs, when Hwanwoong immediately lifts out the bottle with a grin.

‘Suit yourself,’ shrugs Hwanwoong, before popping the cork for himself. ‘It’s my best friend’s wedding day. It’s the prerogative of the best man. Don’t judge me.’

‘No judgment here,’ Youngjo smiles as he sprawls down on the gold couch. He’s glad that he has Hwanwoong with him, because when he woke up this morning his anxiety was through the roof. Apparently that’s normal, but Youngjo can’t help but think that this is no normal wedding. Nothing about his and Keonhee’s relationship is normal. ‘Speech all finished?’

Hwanwoong takes a folded sheet of paper from his pocket with a smirk. ‘Oh it’s all ready to go. Be afraid.’

‘What could you possibly have to say, what memories can you have dragged up that would be more embarrassing for me than the fact that I’m about to marry my arch-nemesis?’

‘Aw, it’s so cute to think about when I had to listen to you complain about him all day,’ Hwanwoong says fondly. He unzips Youngjo’s suit bag and lifts out his tux to hang up. ‘And now the two of you are going all _til-death-do-we-part_.’

‘Do you think I’m doing the right thing?’ asks Youngjo.

‘I think you’re doing a crazy thing,’ he says. ‘But there’s nothing wrong with a little bit of crazy in your life.’

‘Oh God, Hwanwoong, what if I get cold feet?’ He’s been told that this is normal too, but he still isn’t prepared for the creeping worry and all of the what-ifs that are spilling unbidden into his mind.

Hwanwoong sighs and sits down beside him, taking his shaky hands into his own. ‘Look at me, Youngjo. Do you _want_ to marry Keonhee?’

‘I don’t know what I want!’

‘Because if you don’t want to then that’s alright. If you want to but not right now, then that’s alright. I’m sure Keonhee will understand, I’m sure he’d be happy to _wait_ now that the two of you are _actually_ dating. He wouldn’t put his desire for the company over his feelings for you, I know it. And if you do want to, then that’s alright too. Your best man is right here on your side, and I know your boyfriend will be too. We got you.’ He squeezes his hands and Youngjo nods with a wobbling breath.

‘I haven’t even told him I love him yet.’

‘Do you? Love him?’

Youngjo swallows. Being honest with Hwanwoong has always been even easier than being honest with himself. ‘Yes.’

‘Then tell him. _Before_ you say _I do_.’

Youngjo nods. _Does_ he want to marry Keonhee?

 _Yes_.

‘Let’s get you dressed,’ says Hwanwoong. ‘Look what I had made for you.’

He unfurls a delicate protective case to show Youngjo a small, intricately designed boutonniere. A white rose in full bloom, surrounded at the stem by soft, sapphire blue delphiniums. Tiny white bundles of glitter give the flowers a dazzling sparkle, like they come with their own little snowballs.

‘It’s beautiful,’ breathes Youngjo.

‘I need to take Keonhee’s to him. I hope he’ll like it too.’

‘He’ll love it. You go. I’ll get dressed.’

When Hwanwoong is gone, Youngjo takes a long, long look in the mirror. He meets his own eyes and asks them for their honest answer. ‘Am I doing the right thing?’ They don’t respond, and he looks away, stripping off his jeans and t-shirt like he’s leaving behind that past him forever. He changes into his pants and crisp white shirt, fiddling with the collar and the cuffs.

For a second, he pauses when he sees the way his sapphire ring looks against the white. Keonhee’s mum’s ring. He thinks of the way that Keonhee chose to trust him with maybe his most treasured possession in the world, and his heart gives a strange little twitch. Keonhee trusted him with this. His breath catches in his throat, and he busies himself with his hair. Hwanwoong already styled it for him back at home, but it needs a little work just to wake it back up.

‘So I swung by the honeymoon suite on my way back,’ says Hwanwoong as he opens the door and strolls back inside without hesitation. ‘You two are in for a treat.’

‘How does he look?’ asks Youngjo, turning to look at him. The room is not of such interest to him.

Hwanwoong smiles. ‘He’s already tuxxed-up.’

‘ _And_?’

He shrugs infuriatingly. ‘You’ll have to see at the altar.’ The wait is an empty threat, because as a matter of fact Keonhee visits the room not too long later, much to Hwanwoong’s horror. ‘No! No, go away! It’s bad luck for the groom to see the groom before the wedding!’ he shouts, grappling with Keonhee for a second as Youngjo laughs, feeling suddenly shy at the realisation that Keonhee is going to see him in his tux for the very first time.

Keonhee wins the scuffle, leaving a disgruntled Hwanwoong to stalk from the room as if the whole day is ruined. ‘He’s taking his job seriously,’ smiles Keonhee as he watches him go before closing the door quietly.

‘Well, you know, best-man, best-friend, personal assistant… he’s got a lot on his plate.’

Youngjo looks down at the floor as he speaks, eyes on Keonhee’s shining black shoes. Only when he finds a special kind of courage in his heart does he drag his gaze upwards to his face. Keonhee’s jacket is white, the blue delphiniums at his lapel like inky stains on an abstract artwork. His hair is styled all the way back from his face, and Youngjo finds himself wondering if his bone structure has always been this sculpted, whether he’s just never noticed before.

He looks at Keonhee in a way more concentrated than he’s ever looked at a person before. His heart thuds like he’s just run here, and his breath is irregular. This is real. Keonhee is here. Keonhee is his groom. They haven’t been dating long enough for them to be at this point, and yet here they are, backwards as always.

‘You look beautiful,’ whispers Keonhee, and he lifts his hand to brush down Youngjo’s cheek. ‘Better than I even imagined.’

‘Is this how you imagined your wedding day?’ asks Youngjo softly.

‘I never imagined I’d have a wedding day,’ he says in return, and that makes Youngjo’s heart feel strange again.

‘We need to talk,’ says Youngjo as fast as he can, because he knows that any longer spent thinking will be more time in which he could stop himself.

Keonhee drops his hand and looks down. ‘You don’t want to marry me. I understand. It’s different now.’

‘No, that’s not what I was going to say!’ he says quickly. He takes Keonhee’s hands in his and interlinks their fingers together.

‘We can wait. The company can wait. It’s not important, not compared to us. I can’t expect you to marry me when we just started really _seeing_ each other.’

‘You’re not listening to me, Keonhee. It’s not that I don’t want to marry you. It’s just that I… I can’t marry you without telling you first.’

Keonhee looks back up and their eyes meet. Around them, the room is silent, but Youngjo thinks he can hear his blood rushing in his ears. Electricity sparkles like static where their skin touches, and it crackles in the air between them, almost audible. If he got lost in those dark eyes forever, he thinks he’d be happy there.

‘I love you,’ says Youngjo. Saying it aloud makes it real, and he settles into himself knowing that it’s the truth.

Keonhee’s lips part and he glances at their joined hands. He runs his thumb over the ring on Youngjo’s finger before looking back into his eyes again. ‘I love you too.’ Quiet and quiet and they’re getting _married_ in an hour and -

To break the tension, Youngjo gives him a half smile. ‘I don’t know why, but I think I’ve loved you for quite a while.’

Keonhee laughs and lifts their hands to press a kiss to Youngjo’s knuckles. ‘So what does this mean?’

‘It means that we should get married. Because that’s what marriage is, right? Two people saying they love each other? Everything else is secondary.’

Keonhee unknots their hands only to take Youngjo’s face in them instead and kiss him, a slow, long kiss that makes Youngjo’s knees turn to liquid and he thinks that without Keonhee’s touch grounding him to the earth he’d lose his grasp on gravity altogether. He gives into the sensations in his body, the buzz of his lips, the way his neck rolls back automatically to let Keonhee take more of his space. ‘Enough,’ whispers Keonhee, breath all over Youngjo’s lips. ‘We’ve got a wedding to go to.’

It’s lucky that Keonhee stops. Youngjo would have been happy to show up at the wedding with his hair mussed up and lips swollen red just to share a moment here with Keonhee.

‘All in?’ says Youngjo, catching Keonhee’s hand before he turns away.

Keonhee nods with a flash of love right across his eyes. ‘All in.’

~

It’s not the first time that Youngjo has said ‘I do.’ He’s said it twice before, once on a TV show, and once in a movie. He remembers how hard it was to convey a lifetime of emotion into those couple of seconds, telling a story with his eyes, and he finds now that conveying everything that he thinks about Keonhee, even if their love has been so much quicker, is even harder.

The hall is small and intimate, swathed in black and silver. Overhead hangs a crystal chandelier. One photographer crouches halfway down the aisle, the eyes of the press and the public locked away outside, never to witness this moment. White and blue flowers are collected in bundles tied together in delicate white thread, fixed amidst the seats along with small perfume bags of jasmine and lemon. The room is hushed with bated breath as everyone waits on Youngjo.

He swallows, imagining how their rings will look side by side in the pictures, matching. Tying them together like a bright blue ribbon around their wrists. Their linked destiny finally become one altogether. ‘I do, too,’ he says with a small smile. It’s a smile that he knows Keonhee likes, because he tells him so when he’s had two or three whiskeys in the evening and is feeling sentimental.

When Keonhee leans in to press a soft kiss to his lips, Youngjo finds himself thinking that if he’d spent time imagining his own wedding when he was younger, it probably would look a lot like this. The people he loves are here, and the person he loves is holding his hands close in his. The path they took to be here might be unconventional, but the love is traditional as any, a vibrant fire on the heart, of which the embers will never burn out.

When everyone stands to cheer them on, Youngjo buries his face in Keonhee’s shoulder shyly.

Keonhee wraps an arm around him, a radiant smile on his face.

The smile is nothing to do with a plan well-executed; it’s that of a new husband, shining with happiness.

As they walk to have their photographs taken, silver confetti falls in Youngjo’s hair, and he shakes it out with a laugh. It’s good to laugh, because it stops involuntary tears from glassing over his eyes. He didn’t expect it to feel quite like this.

He’s used to having the eyes of the world on him, but today he feels more exposed than ever before, even just as he brings Keonhee to take photographs with his parents, or as he tells the story over and over again to all of his friends about how “ _yes, I know it was quick – we just fell in love so fast._ ” It hurts him to know that they can never know the truth, but he knows they wouldn’t understand. What he and Keonhee have shared, share now, will share is a story unique to them.

~

Keonhee finds his boyfriend – his fiancé – his husband – it’s all moved so fast that sometimes it’s difficult for him to keep up – across the dance floor, talking to Geonhak. The reception is held in a beautiful hall, the tables dressed with ornate, metallic structures that hold glowing lights, and the ceiling is showered with glowing silver stars, his own special request. Most of this was organised by a planner, and a very eminent one at that, but there are little pieces of Keonhee and Youngjo that one can see if they look close enough.

They’re still so early in their relationship that Keonhee is still learning things about Youngjo. And that’s thrilling. It’s thrilling when he finds out that Youngjo draws when he’s stressed, or that strawberries are his favourite fruit. He gets a buzz down to his fingertips just when Youngjo says he likes a song on the radio and he can mark that in his memory, or when he tells him an anecdote from his childhood and Keonhee can start to assemble a few more pieces of the puzzle of his life.

The party has been rolling for quite some time, Keonhee taking the time to share some moments with his sisters, his cousins, his friends, all of whom have accepted Youngjo’s presence in his life without question. _Fuck_ his uncle who said that people would talk. No one’s talking now.

‘We’re supposed to be dancing,’ Keonhee reminds Youngjo, wrapping his arms around his waist from behind and leaning down to rest his chin on his shoulder. He likes holding Youngjo like this. It reminds him that he’s his now.

‘One moment,’ says Youngjo, swivelling in his hold until he can see Hwanwoong, who’s barking out instructions and schedules to anyone and everyone who will listen.

‘Woong!’ he shouts, loud enough for his friend to hear him at last. ‘Have a glass of champagne. Dance with Dongju. That’s an order from your groom.’

‘But I have to make sure the cake - ’

‘Things are under control,’ he says, in a voice like he’s trying to calm a tiger just ready to bite. ‘You’ve done great. Now go.’

For a second, Hwanwoong looks at the two of them like he wants to protest, but then he grabs his boyfriend’s hand and pulls him out onto the dance floor, conceding to enjoy himself at last.

‘All done,’ smiles Youngjo, turning back to Keonhee. ‘Sorry about that. I’m all yours.’

‘Looks like you’re a better boss than me,’ says Keonhee. His time as CEO of the company has not been a time that he’s enjoyed. Much as people might think he’d like spending his time telling others what to the do, the truth is he’d rather be in his studio alone, working on his music, than in an office like that.

As they speak, the music turns slow, and Keonhee walks Youngjo out with him until they’re under the soft silvery lights. Both of them have shed their jackets by now, and as they stand, just swaying, Keonhee lifts a hand to unravel Youngjo’s bow-tie, too. It’s an intimate motion to make in public, but he wants Youngjo to relax; he wants to show him that it’s not all just suits and ties with him. He undoes the top button, and Youngjo exhales with a smile.

‘And breathe. Let me do yours.’

‘I have something to tell you,’ says Keonhee. He feels nervous, but not as nervous as he did earlier in the day, when he was going over and over, around and around, in his head, trying to decide whether before the wedding was the right moment to tell Youngjo that he loved him. ‘It’s important.’

‘Okay,’ Youngjo tilts his head to the side, resting his hands on Keonhee’s waist.

‘I’ve just told my sister that I’m going to sign control over the company to her, first thing on Monday. She can head the board, she can be the CEO.’ He says it all in a rush, unsure whether Youngjo will be angry with him, angry that they did all of this, signed their futures in ink side by side, only for him to hand all that away. He swallows, an anxious lump in his throat, but then he sees that Youngjo is smiling. ‘You know I never wanted the company. The truth is, I just didn’t want my uncle to have it. It’ll be safer in her hands than it would have been in mine.’

‘I know,’ says Youngjo softly.

‘And we still won – I still get to show up and watch when she fires him. But I’m a musician. I want to make music forever. Being with you here today, _marrying_ you, I realised that going and taking what you want is more important than anything else, more important than pride or triumph. _This,_ ’ he nods between them, ‘this right here is my triumph. Everything that happened, this crazy, crazy scheme that we orchestrated, it was all just fate’s design, someone’s clever plan to make me fall in love with you.’

Youngjo’s lip trembles ever so slightly, and Keonhee wants to kiss him, but Youngjo speaks first. ‘I’m proud of you. I’m proud of this choice.’

‘I was worried you’d be angry.’

Youngjo laughs. ‘Angry? Angry at you for choosing what’s going to make you happy? I made that choice too, today, when you asked me if I still wanted to marry you. This is what I wanted, what I want. You’re what I want.’

After that, Keonhee kisses him. He forgets the people around them, and he forgets the past that brought them here. For a moment, there is nothing but now, the now in which he’s married someone who he loves, and that’s not something he ever thought he’d find for himself.

‘It must be almost cheesecake time,’ grins Youngjo when they part.

Keonhee sighs, wondering how on earth Youngjo managed to talk him into that one. ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’

Youngjo pats his chest. ‘But first, it’s time for you to sing for me.’

~

Waking up with Keonhee by his side is always like dreaming, but today it feels more so than ever. Youngjo twists the new silver ring on his finger and tries to decide between watching it shine for a while, or watching Keonhee sleep. He turns his eyes up to Keonhee’s face, serene in rest, hair a mess on the pillow. Youngjo doesn’t remember what time they went to sleep, but it was late. Very late. Not just because there was the small matter of the _technicalities_ of a wedding night, but because there was talking. So much talking. They talked until dawn.

The honeymoon suite is huge, dressed in silver and black and white as per their request, and if Youngjo reaches around he can find one of the boxes of chocolates left on the nightstand that he partially devoured last night. He picks one out and lets it melt on his tongue as he watches Keonhee, his own breathing slipping into time with the rise and fall of his chest.

He thinks about the ridiculous thing they did yesterday, and his heart swells. There’s not one ounce of regret inside him. They’ve always done things backwards, and marrying now, just at the start of a life together? It’s exciting. Things with Keonhee have always been exciting. That’s what he can’t put into words for anyone else. Only Keonhee would understand it too.

He thinks about the deal they made, and finds himself wondering what the two of them from back then, the naïve, clueless pair who thought it could all be for show, would think if they could see them now. He laughs at his past self, and looks back to his future. Keonhee’s eyes flutter in a dream, and Youngjo tries to imagine everything he could be dreaming about.

Him, maybe?

If so then he hopes it is the happiest dream that Keonhee has ever had.

He considers the moment at which fake became real, and he thinks that the lines in life are so blurred, just as the line between friend and enemy balances a delicate silver thread. The vast expanse between anything else and _lover_ though, that stretches into another plane and he thinks how it has been to cross that field with Keonhee. He thinks about how many times they tripped, and almost fell.

He thinks about how fate picked them up and dusted them off, every time.

He thinks about how things would have been if he had kissed him that night at the bonfire, and then he thinks that there’s nothing he would change. The present they share is worth every stumble in the past.

The future they are promised is the prize for it all.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this read, it turned out to be a long one! See you next time x
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/hvanwoong)


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